Harry Potter and the Lost Heir
by krysalys
Summary: Harry and his friends enter their 6th year at Hogwarts, and a stranger is the first to seek refuge at the school from Voldemort. Reposting under new author name
1. Happy Birthday, Harry

Title: Harry Potter and the Lost Heir

Author: krysalys

Email: (general, hetero or slash): General

Pairing/Characters: No pairings, all characters from previous books. Gwendolyn MacCollum, Charles Evanston and Trinidad Lozada are mine.

Rating: Um… FRT – Fan Rated for Teens 13 and older

Summary: Harry and his friends start their 6th year at Hogwarts; a stranger seeks refuge at the school from Voldemort.

Warnings: Some swearing, as we all know that in real life just about everybody curses… especially teenagers. wink

Notes: This is one writer's humble postulation on what could happen in Harry's 6th year based on the previous 5 books.

Disclaimer: Not mine, just couldn't resist the adorable rabid plot bunny that ambushed me one day. No infringement intended, and this is just my humble way of thanking JKR for her inspiring creation.

Harry Potter and the Lost Heir

Another year at Hogwarts was rapidly approaching, and Harry Potter for once didn't feel the thrill of excitement at his impending departure from 4 Privet Drive.

After everything that had happened in the previous 5 years, he was left wondering if the whole world would be much better off if he'd have stayed with the Dursley's and never attended the school for witchcraft and wizardry.

So many people were dead. And all because of him.

It was already 15 minutes into Harry's 16th birthday, but he really didn't see what he had to be happy about. It seemed that everyone he loved and cared about was destined to die, all because they had the ill manners to love The Boy Who Lived. He just didn't know if he could take any more of that. Knowing that his parents died to protect him from a self-fulfilling prophecy that never should have been recorded in the first place (at least in _his_ opinion, seeing as how Sirius then wouldn't have gone and gotten himself killed trying to protect his beloved godson), well, that was bad enough. But then the only person who had turned out to be the next best thing to having his actual parents around was murdered, by his own evil cousin no less, which just _had_ to be the icing on the damned cake for Voldemort…

Harry growled and threw his book across his small bedroom. He didn't even care that his action had woken up his portly cousin, Dudley, whose violent snores were abruptly cut off by a picture that suddenly fell on his face due to the forcefully thrown book from the next room that had dislodged it.

A small and distant part of Harry's mind was surprised that Dudley didn't come charging in to pummel him for the rude awakening. Hell, not even Uncle Vernon dared come into Harry's room uninvited any more… not after the dire threats leveled at him by the bulk of the members of The Order of the Phoenix when they'd escorted Harry into the care of his surly Muggle relatives at the beginning of summer vacation.

Even that thought wasn't enough to bring a smile to the beyond-troubled teen's face as he faced yet another sleepless night. The nightmares were getting worse, and now included Cedric Diggory's murder by Voldemort as well as what had happened afterwards. Not a single night went by the entire summer where Harry didn't wake up screaming and throwing warding spells right and left. The Ministry of Magic didn't even send him threatening letters at his unconscious misuse of magic. As a matter of fact, they had only sent him one very strange letter so far, personally written by the Minister of Magic himself, apologizing for Harry's horrible treatment by the Ministry the year before, and asking _him_ of all people for forgiveness.

Harry snorted in derision. He was no person to be asking forgiveness from. If anything, he felt that _he_ owed the entire wizarding world a huge, honking apology for being so rude as to be breathing. His dark thoughts grew even murkier, as Harry wondered if he should spare the world any more pain at his expense by just going outside, hailing the Knight Bus, and tossing himself in front of it at the last second. Maybe then, and only then, his dearest friends would be spared any more heartache and despair because of his very existence.

Just then, Hedwig and three other owls arrived in a vast flutter of wings at his windowsill, interrupting Harry's spiraling despondency. They were loaded down with packages and letters, and Harry could tell who they were all from by look alone. He just sat there on his bed, fruitlessly willing the birds to go away and leave him to his dark thoughts, but Hedwig leaped nimbly to his side and sharply pecked Harry's cheek.

"Ow! What the bloody hell was _that_ for!" he snapped, rubbing his face and coming away with a spot of blood on his fingers. His owl merely glared at him, voicelessly chastising him for his horrible state of mind as she peremptorily held out her leg to be relieved of its burden.

"Guess you're not going to leave me alone until I open these, are you?" Harry snarled quietly. "Well, move closer so I can get it off then." Hedwig obliged, her reproachful gaze never wavering as Harry relieved first her, and then the other owls of their deliveries, before quickly gliding across the room to her open cage with its waiting snack and fresh water.

The young man looked over his small pile of presents and letters with distaste. This was one birthday he heartily wished his friends would have just forgotten. Along with him. But the owls were all glaring at Harry as if they'd perform a repeat of Hedwig's chastisement en masse, so he grudgingly began to open the packages.

The first was from Hermione, along with a short letter.

_Dear Harry,_

I have been wondering how you were doing since my last letter, but I think I already know the answer to that. I miss you terribly, and wish there was something I could do to help you sort everything out. I won't wish you a happy birthday, as I am sure you think it will be anything but. Please remember that I will always be there for you, and will always support you.

Just in case you read my letter before Ron's, I won't spoil his surprise, but I will say that I am looking forward to seeing you soon.

Until then, take care, Harry. Please.

Love,

Hermione 

The simply worded letter filled with his friend's concern for him caused the back of Harry's eyes to burn with unshed tears, and his hands shook a little as he carefully rested the paper on the bed beside him. His head tilted back to rest on the wall as he tried to get a grip on himself. One of the things Harry could always expect from Hermione was the simple truth, yet worded in such a way as to remind him that he still had people who cared about him.

Maybe it would be best if Harry started encouraging all of those people to stay away from him. For their own good.

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Wallowing in self-pity did nothing to lessen the danger imposed by Voldemort. The best that would happen if he continued indulging himself would be that his death would come that much quicker, and his friends would still all die. As Harry knew all too well by now, Voldemort was not the forgiving kind, and took great pleasure in ruthlessly destroying each and every person who would dare defy him.

He picked up the small package the letter was attached to and opened it to find a simple silver frame with a wizard picture of Ron, Harry and Hermione all bent over their homework in the Gryffindor common room, their heads almost touching as they examined a piece of parchment with great interest. Harry was sitting in between his friends, with both Ron and Hermione resting a hand on his shoulders.

Black brows furrowed in slight confusion. Who would have taken such a picture? Certainly not Colin Creevy, since he had such a horrible case of hero-worship for Harry that he would have made a big deal out of it.

Harry shook his head. It really didn't matter who had taken the picture; what was important was the message the photo imparted. In Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger Harry would always have stalwart companions and true friends, and nothing he said or did would ever shake their friendship. It was the perfect accompaniment to Hermione's letter, and exactly what Harry needed right now.

The threatening tears of earlier spilled over and cascaded down Harry's cheeks. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing like hell that this all wouldn't hurt so damned much.

He sat there for who knew how long before he heard something moving towards him. Harry cracked open an eye in time to witness Hedwig land lightly on his outstretched leg. She sidestepped up to his thigh and extended her white head towards his face, hooting softly, eyes wide and mirroring the gut-wrenching heartache in his chest. Harry reached up and gently scratched his beloved owl on the side of her face, a small sad smile curving his lips.

"Thanks, my friend," he whispered. The snowy owl hooted once more, and began nibbling on Harry's fingers affectionately.

He continued to scratch Hedwig as she alternately groomed him and herself, and with his free hand reached out for what was obviously Ron's present and letter.

_Dear Harry,_

I'd wish you a happy birthday, but I think it'll all be much more grand if I said it in person! Mum and Dad talked with The Others, and tomorrow after breakfast we'll be over to pick you up. Say 8:30? Don't worry, we won't come by Floo, especially since the Dursley's were so put out the last time. Instead, Dad was able to borrow a Ministry car, so we'll actually be knocking on your front door like we were Muggles! I don't know about you, mate, but I have a feeling that'll put your Aunt and Uncle's knickers in quite a bind.

Harry grinned. That it surely would. Every time the Weasley's came to call on 4 Privet Drive, something inevitably went wrong, usually involving Uncle Vernon turning all shades of red and purple and sputtering like a backfiring car. Not to mention Dudley turning tail and bolting out of the room squeaking like a terrified mouse. Too bad the Dursley's had the pig's tail surgically removed; it would have made the whole scene all the more hilarious to see the tiny twisted appendage jerking and twitching on his cousin's fat arse as he hot-footed it out of the living room.

That particular imagery cheering Harry up some more, he turned his attention back to the letter.

_Mum would kill me if she knew I'd ruined her surprise, but oh well. I didn't want you to freak out, considering how things have gone lately, but Mum's planned a birthday party for you. And when I say it's huge, I mean it's bloody huge! Most of Gryffindor's invited, and from what I could see of the replies, mate, we're going to have to hold the whole thing outside. Yeah, that's how big this thing is. I won't go into any more details, since this is supposed to be a surprise and everything, but I figured you'd like a little warning on what you're in for. I hope you don't mind, but I wanted you to get your gift from me before the others. It's not much, but dad and I thought it would come in handy._

See you in the morning!

Love,

Ron

PS – I figured you'd have noticed that Errol didn't come this time; he'd broken one of his wings last week, and is having a lot of problems bouncing back from it. And Pig just really needed the exercise.

Harry snorted. Pig _always_ needed the exercise. That tiny owl was so hyperactive that if he ever held still for more than a minute he'd probably explode. More than likely Ron just wanted the menace out of his hair for a few hours. As a matter of fact, as soon as Harry had relieved the little bird of its burden, it had zipped around the room a few times before heading back outside and dive-bombing the voles in the neighbors' yard a few doors down.

His smile faltered. Pig had been a present to Ron from Sirius. Harry's eyes shut again for a few moments before he mentally shook himself. He'd better work on putting on his game face if he didn't want to completely ruin his surprise birthday party with his melancholy demeanor. He felt like he belonged more in some Shakespearean play right now than acting out the role of a teenager that wasn't really marked for death by the centuries' most powerful Dark wizard.

"Presents don't open themselves," he muttered to himself, and he opened the small box with Ron's present.

Inside was a peculiar sewing kit, with another note from Ron.

_Harry,_

In case you're completely confused and wondering why I put empty spools in here. This is a repair kit for your invisibility cloak. Of course the thread is invisible too, which will make it bloody difficult to work with. But hey, at least the spools are visible, right?

Love,

Ron

Harry almost laughed. The cloak was starting to get a bit frayed around the edges, as he'd noticed stepping on some stray threads and tripping from them during his last few illicit forays through school. Ron was right; actually getting the needle threaded was going to be damned hard, but well worth the effort if it meant extending the life of his father's cloak.

Harry poked through the rest of the box, coming across a coupon for a free sample of a special potion to clean and restore invisibility cloaks. _"Because even magic cloaks get smelly if not washed!"_ He carefully closed and set the box aside and reached for the next present with a lighter heart.

It was from Hagrid. Inside was a small cake, decorated with chocolate frosting and glowing letters wishing Harry a happy birthday. He opened the letter and read:

_Harry,_

Wasn't sure if you'd get a cake or not, so here's one. Don't worry, your little elf friend Dobby made it, since I'm out of the country on official business for You-Know-What.

Harry's face firmed. He hoped his friend wasn't doing anything too dangerous for the Order, as the last time Hagrid left on an Order errand, he'd almost gotten himself killed by the last known remaining giant tribe.

Which reminded Harry: wonder what Hagrid did with his half-brother?

"Hopefully stashed him somewhere in the mountains," the now-lanky teenager murmured before reading on.

_I should be back long before school starts, specially since I'm still a teacher, but I won't be able to go to your birthday party. Can't remember if that was a surprise or not._

Anyway, happy birthday, Harry. I'll give you your present after school starts. Take care.

Love,

Hagrid

Harry swiped a finger through the frosting on the cake and tentatively tasted it.

"Not bad," he commented with raised eyebrows. "Need to see if Dobby'd be interested in cooking for Hagrid from now on."

The next thing was a letter from Hogwarts, detailing the now-standard confirmation of the beginning of the school year, as well as including a list of what books Harry would need for his classes.

'_Hm, looks like Firenze is going to continue teaching… for now,_' Harry mused. But then, he doubted the centaur would ever be allowed back in the Forbidden Forest by his brethren. '_Might as well make the best of a bad situation, eh old chap?_' Harry knew exactly how that felt. He scanned over the rest of the list, noting the strange statement that he and his classmates would be learning Apparating in Hogsmeade this year, as well as the absence of any mention of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry made a mental note to ask Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall just how exactly the students were all supposed to learn how to defend themselves against the very obvious threat of the Dark Wizards now. He highly doubted that he of all people would be asked to teach such a class; Harry only knew a few more spells than his classmates, and wasn't about to share exactly how he avoided being killed by the Avada Kedavra curse.

Also included was a page detailing the results of Harry's O.W.L.'s. _'Wow, eight,'_ he was mildly surprised. In the grand scheme of things, he guessed it was impressive, but it just didn't hold the importance it once did. Sirius would've been proud, but Harry hastily veered away from more thoughts about his godfather.

What Harry didn't expect was a personal letter from Dumbledore folded in the back of the envelope.

_Harry,_

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to let you know that I shall be continuing your Occlumency lessons personally soon after the beginning of the term. I believe it would be a most wise decision to continue to strengthen your skills in that particular area.

Harry grimaced. "Strengthen what? Obviously I didn't do a very good job of learning the first time around, did I?"

_I shall also be available any time you need to talk. No matter the time or what is happening, I want you to feel free to contact me whenever you feel it is necessary._

"So how am I supposed to contact you, huh?" Harry muttered darkly.

_If you would please refer to the package attached with this letter, you will find a small mirror. If I recall correctly, the one that had been given to you for your last birthday had been broken. I managed to repair it, and have its brother in my possession._

How could that _be_? Sirius had given Harry the mirror, and had had the other one on him when he'd… when he'd…

"When he _died_," Harry choked out.

_You may not have been told this, but the mirrors were part of a set of four; carried by your father, Remus, Peter and Sirius. Remus was kind enough to lend me his mirror for the time being. I am sorry I was not able to get the mirror to you earlier, but these things can be quite tricky to properly repair. Again, Harry, should you feel the need to talk, just hold up the mirror and speak my name._

Take care, my son.

Albus Dumbledore

Harry sat there, feeling numb. He didn't know what to think about this. What was he supposed to do? Call Dumbledore every time he felt like putting his head through a wall? The headmaster would get annoyed at that pretty quickly, as Harry always felt like that these days. Call every time he had a nightmare? Same thing there: that happened every time Harry closed his eyes.

And what was there to talk about? _Oh, hello Professor, I just wanted to tell you that I feel responsible for everything that's happened, since I am a right stupid twit who can't even learn how to keep Voldemort out of my head? Oh, yeah, and it's all my fault that my parents and Sirius died, and I've been seriously thinking of killing myself to save Voldemort the hassle of murdering everyone I care about to get to me. By the way, have you heard the news about the Chudley Cannons' Keeper?_

Harry shook his head. Yeah, right, saying all that would probably land him in the mental ward of Saint Mungo's. _'Maybe that's where I deserve to be,'_ he thought bitterly. He ran his hand through his untidy hair, snorted derisively, and abruptly rose from his bed. Hedwig tilted off of Harry's lap with a squawk, and hopped across the floor to launch herself back onto her perch. Lost in his thoughts, Harry swept all of his presents into an untidy heap and dumped them into his trunk. He then rummaged around until he found a small potion bottle. He uncorked it and quickly downed the contents, silently thanking Madame Pomfrey for the few phials that allowed him a dreamless slumber. He only allowed himself one bottle a week, as he didn't want to become addicted to the powerful elixir and therefore gain unwanted attention.

He settled back on to his bed and waited for the potion to numb his brain.

Now if Harry could only do that with his broken heart…


	2. Holiday At The Burrow

Chapter 2 – Holiday in the Burrow

The next morning, Harry trudged down the stairs a little after 8:00am, and was greeted at the kitchen door by his Aunt Petunia's glare.

"You overslept," she stated harshly. "I tried to wake you earlier, but you didn't answer your door."

More than likely, that meant that Harry's Aunt had undone the padlock and smacked the door a few times as she shrilly called his name, but the sleeping draught must still have had him firmly in its grasp.

"You missed breakfast," Dudley gleefully mumbled around his last mouthful of Harry's grapefruit slathered in artificial sugar. His piggy eyes never left the screen of the TV.

Harry shrugged one shoulder as he helped himself to a glass of juice. "That's all right, I'm not hungry," he replied quietly as he sat down at the table.

Uncle Vernon glared at him over the top of his paper. "Not that I'm complaining, boy, but you've been acting quite… _normal_ since you came back from that… that _school_."

Harry kept his gaze on the glass in front of him and shrugged again.

"What's going _on_ with you!" Uncle Vernon finally snapped after a few moments of tense silence.

Harry glanced up at the beefy-faced man. "Nothing you would care to hear about, Uncle Vernon," he replied as quietly as before. "But I did receive word last night," he paused as his Uncle obviously prepared to bellow at him for reminding him of 'those bloody birds', but nothing escaped the man's quivering mouth except for a strangled "Urgh." "That one of my friends and his dad will be by to pick me up this morning," Harry finished.

"Whatever for?" Aunt Petunia's eyes widened as she finished refilling her coffee cup and primly sat back down in her chair.

"In case you didn't notice, Aunt Petunia," Harry commented with the barest trace of sarcasm, "Today's my birthday, and my friends are throwing me a party. So if you don't mind, I'll be upstairs packing, since Ron said they'd be arriving around 8:30."

Uncle Vernon slapped his newspaper roughly down on to the table, causing Petunia and Dudley to jump a little in alarm. "If you're referring to your weird little red-haired friend and his… his… _freak_ of a father, then…"

Harry stood abruptly. "Then _what_, Uncle Vernon? What are you going to do?" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "You will do nothing, you hear me? Ron and his father are coming by car, so you don't have to worry about your precious neighbors finding out your nasty little secret. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be upstairs packing." And with that, Harry stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs before his uncle could recover and get a full mad on.

Harry spent the next 30 minutes gathering all of his things together and carefully packing them in his trunk. He was just finishing placing the last of his textbooks in a neat stack when he heard a knock at the front door, followed by the repeated ringing of the doorbell. He smiled a little; that must be Mr. Weasley, once again marveling over a Muggle invention.

Harry could hear Uncle Vernon stomping through the hallway to the foyer and shook his head. He really wished that his blustering uncle would for just once mind his manners… and his temper.

But Vernon's bellow cut that hope down.

"BOY! GET DOWN HERE!"

"That's quite all right, Mr. Dursley," Mr. Weasley's voice wafted up the stairs. "Ron will just nip on up and help Harry bring down his things."

Harry stood at his doorway while Ron bounded eagerly up the stairwell. A small smile curved his lips as he noted that his best friend had shot up another inch or so in the mere month they'd been apart.

"Hullo, Harry!" Ron skidded to a stop with his trademark crooked grin. The happiness in seeing his friend faded a little as Ron took in the dark circles under Harry's eyes and his thinner than usual build. He ducked his head a little. "You ready?" he asked in a softer voice.

Harry nodded, and led Ron into his room. Hedwig shook her head in her cage and ruffled her feathers in greeting. "Hullo, Hedwig," Ron nodded to the snowy owl, and then looked cautiously around the room. "Where's Pig?"

"Last I saw him he was hunting voles at the neighbors' down the street," Harry replied as he grabbed the handle of his trunk and tugged it out into the middle of the room. "I told him you were coming this morning, so he's been out having fun scaring the stray cats, too." He smiled a little at his best friend's groan.

"Stupid git's going to get himself hurt if he doesn't knock it off," Ron grumbled. He strode over to the window and leaned out over the desk. "Pig!" he shouted, and Harry winced at the thought of his uncle's reaction. "Where the bloody hell _are_ you, you nit?"

In answer, the tiny owl suddenly dive-bombed through the window. His sudden entrance startled Ron, who staggered back and promptly tripped over Harry's trunk. With a shocked "WHOOP!", the flame-haired teen plummeted over and whacked his head on the floor, quickly followed by his wildly flailing limbs.

Harry couldn't help himself. He sniggered.

Pig hurtled around the room three times before alighting on his owner's chest and chirruping his delight at seeing Ron again.

The absolutely flabbergasted look on his best friend's face didn't help matters, and Harry felt the belly laugh burst from his mouth.

"WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON UP THERE!" Vernon Dursley's infuriated tenor thundered up the narrow stairs. "KNOCK IT OFF AND GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE DOWN HERE, BOY!"

Ron irritably shoved the tiny owl off his chest and tried to sort himself out. And even though Harry tried his best to wipe the amusement off of his face, he just couldn't help the few giggles that escaped from behind the hand he'd covered his mouth with.

"Everything all right up there, lads?" Arthur Weasley's much calmer voice called out.

"Fine, dad!" Ron called out, his face and ears turning beet red. He looked up at Harry, whose intense green eyes were twinkling with mirth, and growled, "I could do with a hand here, mate."

"Sure thing, Ron," Harry chuckled, and helped his best friend sort himself out and rise.

"Glad to see that my pain is so amusing," Ron grinned sheepishly as he rubbed the swelling bruise on his head, and Harry's very rare scintillating smile shone for the first time in months. He turned to glare at Pigwidgeon, who was hopping from foot to foot on the windowsill. "As for _you_… you're a bloody _menace_! And I thought Errol was bad!"

"C'mon, we wouldn't want Uncle Vernon to give himself a stroke," Harry interrupted the imminent gripe session. Both boys each hefted a side of the trunk and maneuvered it down the narrow stairwell to the foyer where Harry's uncle and Ron's dad were waiting.

Tonks was waiting in the car when the boys opened the doors. "All right, Harry?" she inquired with a kind smile.

He nodded with a touch of happiness in his eyes. "Much better now, thanks."

Her brows furrowed a little at that simple answer, but she didn't say anything further.

The drive to the Burrow was uneventful and rather boring for Ron, who was unused to Muggle travel. And this was despite the hours shaved off of the total trip from the shortcuts the magicked Ministry vehicle was able to make.

"This is taking for_ever_," the gangling redhead declared for what seemed like the 20th time. "Dad, why couldn't we take the Floo network?"

Arthur Weasley sighed in long-suffering patience. "Because, Ron, even though the Ministry is keeping a close eye on things, there are still ways for less… scrupulous… people to break into the network."

A slight chill ran up Harry's spine from where he sat beside Tonks in the back seat. That plain statement was a reminder that Harry's life was in danger more than it ever was before. It was all enough to reinforce his illogical desire to go back to when things were much simpler… before he and the Dursley's had received his acceptance letter to the school of witchcraft and wizardry.

"But don't worry, Harry, Moody's flying interference and keeping an eye out for anything strange," Arthur continued, pointing at the roof of the car.

"You've been quiet the whole drive, Harry," Tonks spoke quietly, while Ron continued to gripe not quite good-naturedly in the front seat to his father. "How have you been?"

Harry turned to look at the metamorphmagus, and noticed that today she'd settled on a fairly conservative look. Well, for _her_ anyway. Concerned violet eyes assessed his pallid face and heavy black circles around his eyes. Her now medium-length brown hair was tipped in a muted shade of matching lavender, with light purple strands framing her oval face.

He found that he really didn't want to lie to her. He just didn't have the strength for it today. "The usual," he sighed. "Nightmares, guilt, can't sleep…"

"Not eating either," came the soft interruption. Tonks rested her hand on Harry's knee. "Why haven't you said anything?"

Harry snorted. "And what can anyone do about it, Tonks?"

"We can listen," she replied earnestly. "We can help carry your burden, even if just a little bit. You have friends who love you, Harry, and we're here for you."

Tears came unbidden, stinging his eyes, and Harry quickly turned his head and looked out the window.

A few silent moments went by between the two before the young woman beside him spoke again. "Harry, I won't lie and say I understand what you're going through, but I'm here if you need me. Sometimes just talking can really help lighten the load."

Harry continued to look out the window, nodding around a huge lump in his throat. Tonks patted his knee gently and removed her hand.

"Hey, Harry, Mum packed some sandwiches for us," Ron twisted around so he could look at his friend over the back of his car seat. "We got pastrami and turkey. Which one'd you like?"

Harry smiled wanly and blinked the tears away. "I'm fine, Ron. Thanks anyway."

Mr. Weasley looked at his young charge from the rear-view mirror. "Now, Harry, that won't do. Molly will have my hide if I don't feed you a proper lunch. She's going to have a conniption as it is."

Ron nodded soberly, and Harry couldn't help but feel touched. "I guess I'll have the turkey," he replied quietly. His best friend handed the sandwich over with a bottle of pumpkin juice and some napkins. Once Harry opened the sandwich wrapper, he realized that he was actually quite hungry. As if taking its cue, his stomach rumbled loudly.

Tonks chuckled. "Now that's music to our ears," she grinned around her mouthful of pastrami on rye. "A young man's healthy appetite rears its ugly head." She washed down the food with a swig from her juice bottle. "Molly sure knows how to feed the rampaging hordes, Arthur," she complimented.

"With 7 children and myself, she's had a lot of experience," the elder Weasley grinned. "Well, we should be at the Burrow in about half an hour, people."

"About bloody time," Ron muttered, and Tonks giggled.

The rest of the ride was blissfully uneventful, but that just tweaked Harry's already frayed nerves more. Since going home a month before, his scar had only bothered him once… on the ride back from the station. Not to mention the fact that he'd not had one Voldemort-inspired dream. Something just felt really off about that.

As if sensing Harry's thoughts, Arthur glanced over his shoulder after turning on the lane leading to his house. "Harry, I meant to ask earlier: have you been having any problems with your…" He dipped his head to the side a little.

"My scar? Strangely enough… no," Harry replied, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. "I've felt nothing since the ride home with the Dursley's."

Uncle Vernon had almost wrecked the car when Harry had suddenly screamed out in agony, his head feeling like it was about to split in two with Voldemort's fury. Afterwards, Aunt Petunia had stammeringly explained to him that he'd acted as if he were having a conniption fit, violently jerking around in his seat with his eyes rolling up in his head. His terrifying behavior had actually scared his Aunt enough that she was ready to call a doctor out to the house, but Harry had shakily refused. He'd told his Aunt and Uncle that all he needed was a good rest to recover, and nothing more had been spoken about it since.

Harry had made sure to notify the members of the Order of the incident, but nothing had trickled in about what would have infuriated the Dark Lord like that.

"Odd," Mr. Weasley murmured to himself. The look on his face echoed how Harry felt; Voldemort was uncharacteristically quiet, and Harry's worry mounted as he noticed the same concerned expression on Tonks as well.

The car pulled up to the Weasley's house, and Molly was standing at the door wiping her hands off on a hand-towel with a huge warm smile on her face. As everyone piled out of the car, she rushed up to Harry and enveloped him in a gentle hug.

"Oh Harry, it's so good to see you, dear," she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. Harry blushed, but felt a warm feeling go through him. Molly Weasley was everything he'd ever wanted in an Aunt, which is how he saw her. She held him at arms' length and studied him. Her expression firmed a little as she took in the circles under his eyes, his pallor and unnatural skinniness. "Harry James Potter, you have not been taking care of yourself!" she scolded kindly. "I want you to march into that house right now and have yourself a bit of a rest, you hear me?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, and she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. "I don't want to hear about it, young man. Now, your bed's made up in Ron's room, and afterwards I'll make you some tea and scones. Don't worry about your things," she lightly smacked his hand away from reaching for his owl's cage. "We'll take care of bringing them in. Ron?"

Her second youngest popped his head above the car's hood from where he'd been unabashedly hiding. "You make sure Harry's comfortable, and then come right down and help me with tea for the others," she ordered, and Ron nodded before he came around the car, gestured for his best friend to follow him, and then led the way into the house.

The two boys trudged up the stairs to Ron's room, passing Percy's closed door along the way. At Harry's questioning look, Ron shook his head. "No, he and Dad haven't made up yet. And he still won't visit. If there's one thing we Weasley's are known for, it's our stubbornness." He shook his head. "Of course Mum's still all worked up about it, so we don't talk about it around her."

Ron let Harry into the room, where Pig was for once napping on his perch by the open window, and made sure Harry was comfortable.

"You'd better make sure to lie down for a while," he warned his friend. "Mum has this way of knowing when you're not doing what she wants." He grinned lopsidedly with a shrug and waved before descending the stairs.

Harry actually felt a bit tired after the drive, so he didn't have any qualms about taking a little nap. He lay down and quickly dropped off into a light doze with the early afternoon sunshine warm against his face.


	3. Overwhelming Support

**Chapter 3 – Overwhelming Support**

A little while later, Harry was gently shaken awake.

"Harry," Ron whispered, and his eyes shot open. Ron stepped back from the cot, smiling. "Looking better, mate. Hey, the you-know-who's are arriving," he winked knowingly. "Figured you'd want to get ready for this before Mum came and sprang it all on you."

Harry smiled back. "Thanks, Ron." He rubbed his eyes before picking up his glasses and putting them on. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and stretched a little. "That's the first time in weeks I didn't have a nightmare," he stated thoughtfully as he ran his fingers through perpetually tousled hair. He looked up just in time to see a look of concern wash over his friend's face. "It's all right, Ron," he reassured. "Really."

"I just wish there was something I could do to help," Ron said sadly.

Harry stood and rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You already have."

"Then why doesn't it feel like enough?"

"Look, just knowing you're there for me is help enough," Harry replied quietly. "And I think I'm ready to talk about it a bit."

Ron nodded, looking a little relieved. "Anytime you need to, mate."

"Thanks." Harry smiled, and the two made their way downstairs.

Mrs. Weasley was just setting a place for tea for Harry when he and Ron arrived at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh, good Harry," she greeted him. "You're awake. Did you have a nice nap?"

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Weasley," he replied, and sat down at the table.

"We've all had a spot of tea, but I saved you some scones," she set a basket in front of him, along with a steaming pot of water and some tea bags. "Now, Harry dear, I know you're probably not in the mood for this right now, but I wanted to do a little something special for your birthday."

Harry hid his smirk behind a still-warm orange scone, while Ron gently snorted as he sat down on Harry's right.

Mrs. Weasley's explanation was suddenly cut off by the arrival of one Hermione Granger at the kitchen door.

"Harry!" she yelled happily, startling Mrs. Weasley. Hermione pushed up the window and unlatched the door before rushing inside, throwing herself at her friend and hugging him. "Oh Harry, I've been so worried about you! How are you doing? When did you get here? Oh, dear, you look dreadful," she scolded as she let him go. "Have you been sleeping at all?"

"Hello, Hermione," Ron interrupted with a grin.

"Hullo, Ron," she answered absentmindedly with a wave. "Harry, if I \didn't know any better, I'd say you've not been eating either." She fixed her dear friend with a glare, and Mrs. Weasley loudly cleared her throat in the brief moment of silence while the girl drew a breath.

"Hermione dear, if you don't mind," Molly began, and Hermione blushed.

"Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs. Weasley!" she apologized, and Harry grinned at his frizzy-haired friends' distress. Hermione wasn't one to forget her manners like this. "It's just that…"

"I know, I know, my dear," the elder woman reassured kindly. "We've all been worried about Harry, but right now he was about to have some tea. Would you like to join us?"

"Oh yes, thank you!" And Hermione sat on Harry's left side.

"Now, as I was saying," Mrs. Weasley continued as she brought out another teacup, saucer and small plate. "Harry, dear, I know this past year has been quite difficult for you, so I hope you don't mind me planning a little party for your birthday."

Harry caught Ron silently rolling his eyes, and had to suppress a chuckle. "No, ma'am, I don't mind," he answered. "It's not like I was doing anything at the Dursley's today."

At that comment, Mrs. Weasley's expression soured. "Well, I've made it a habit to not say anything bad about people, but your Aunt and Uncle are absolutely the rudest Muggles I have ever met," she huffed. "Really, the way they treat you is criminal! I see absolutely no reason why you need to stay with them from now on. If you were here, at least then I could know for certain that you were being fed properly!"

"Oh boy, here she goes," Ron whispered, and Harry chuckled.

"Really, Mrs. Weasley, everything's fine," Harry spoke up. "It's gotten a lot better over there since I started school."

"And only because they're terrified of what might happen to them if they mistreat you again!" Molly groused. "And mark my words, if I ever hear of them stepping out of line…"

"Mum, would you please calm down!" Ron broke in. "Anyway," he continued quickly, as he noticed his mother getting that nasty glint in her eye foretelling his imminent chewing-out. "Wasn't there something else you wanted to tell Harry?"

"Oh, yes," the Weasley matriarch nodded, and her son sighed at his reprieve from her wrath. "Harry, I also want you to stay with us for the rest of the summer. We might have to go to Grimmauld Place for a bit…"

Harry interrupted, his whole body now stiff and his face hard. "No. I'm not going there."

The others tensed, and Molly looked sad. "Yes, I know you wouldn't want to, but…"

"No buts," Harry cut in. "I'm not going there. I – I can't… not right now." He dropped his gaze and looked unseeingly out the kitchen window.

Ron and Hermione exchanged concerned looks, and Molly's face fell. "I understand, dear, and we'll work something out," the woman spoke quietly, and reached over to pat Harry's hand before straightening up. "Well, that's enough of that," she declared briskly. "Harry, dear, you finish your tea. The party will be starting in a few minutes out back. Ron, I need your help carrying some of this food outside, if you don't mind."

Her second youngest nodded and lightly slapped Harry on his back as he rose from the table. "Gather your strength, mate," he murmured in his best friend's ear. "You're gonna need it this afternoon." Ron grinned and moved over to the other end of the long kitchen table, where an impressive array of food was gathered. He picked up a large tray of cheese and crackers and practically stumbled out the kitchen door under its weight.

Harry and Hermione talked a little as they finished their tea and scones, and then Mrs. Weasley herded them outside to greet the party guests. Harry was a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of people that showed up. Ron had said that most of Gryffindor House was coming, but he'd neglected to mention the couple of dozen people from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as well.

The rest of the afternoon seemed to fly by like the Golden Snitch for Harry as he talked and generally hung out with his peers. The entire back yard (as well as around front) of the Burrow was filled to capacity with people of all ages; even Moody made a brief appearance to wish Harry a happy birthday. As a matter of fact, Harry noticed that every member of the Order (other than Snape, Dumbledore and Hagrid) managed to literally pop in for at least a few minutes. He quickly figured out that they were serving double duty – joining in on the party as well as pulling guard duty for Harry. That knowledge cast a pall over an otherwise delightful afternoon.

When he had the chance, Harry snuck away from the crowd and made his way into the orchard at the back of the Weasley's garden for some quiet time.

He'd just made it to the center of the grove and settled himself down at the base of one of the apple trees when he heard someone softly call out his name.

"Harry?" It was Remus Lupin.

Harry sighed. "Over here, Remus."

The werewolf appeared around the tree with a gentle smile. "May I join you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Remus' face firmed as his smile faded. "You always have a choice, Harry. If you'd like some time alone, I will of course respect your wishes."

He moved to step away, but Harry felt ashamed at his gruff words. "No, please stay. I'm sorry… this has just all been a bit…"

"Overwhelming?" Remus smiled in understanding, and squatted down beside the young man. "Believe me when I say I understand the feeling."

Harry's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. He knew that the older man was referring to when he had found out he was a werewolf.

"I just don't know how to deal with all this," Harry began quietly, staring at a spot in the air between two trees. "I'm supposed to act like any other 16 year old going to school, and yet there's nothing normal about me or my life. How can I act like nothing's going on, when I know that any moment I or my friends could be attacked or even killed by Voldemort and his followers?" He dropped his head between his knees, feeling the frustration and powerlessness threatening to drown him again. "I feel like I've this giant target on my back, and anyone who's close to me gets one too. And here I am at this party, surrounded by people, and I've never felt so alone in my life."

Harry felt the other man's hand grasp his shoulder before pulling him into a quick rough hug. He looked up at Remus after he was let go to see the sorrow in his soul echoed in the other man's eyes.

"I miss him too, Harry," Remus murmured, his voice husky. "Cocky, arrogant bastard, and one of the greatest men I've had the honor to call friend." He smiled sadly. "Sirius and James were like brothers to me, and I've always thought of you like a nephew, you know."

Harry shrank back from the other man, his expression growing cold. "Then you should just steer clear, Remus," he almost growled. "People who get too close to me develop a nasty tendency of getting themselves murdered." He raised his knees and hugged his legs, hard.

Lupin sighed deeply, and shook his head after a moment of silence. "No, Harry. I can't do that. James and Sirius would never forgive me if I failed you. Not to mention your mother had quite a wicked right hook," he grinned for a moment as he thoughtfully rubbed his jaw. "Lily Evans was not the kind of woman you wanted to anger, Harry. I see a lot of her temper in you."

"And that somehow does little to make me feel better," Harry gritted out.

"Not much will right now," Remus replied softly. "But always remember this, Harry: you never were, and will never be… alone. No matter what happens, you will always be surrounded with people who love you and will do everything they can to help."

"But what if Voldemort kills all of you?" Harry blurted out; raising glittering emerald eyes to Lupin's pale blue ones. "What if his Death Eaters pick everyone off one or more at a time? What do I do then, Remus?" There, he'd said it. One of the worst parts of Harry's nightmares had been the agonizing fear that Voldemort would take everything Harry held dear away from him, leaving him completely alone in the world.

"He won't," was the simple reply.

"But, how do you _know_ that?" Harry retorted, his voice rising with his frustration.

"There are simply too many of us to do that," Remus answered. "There are people you haven't even met yet that care about you, Harry. And we're all quite set on seeing you grow up."

"If I've never met them before, then why should they care!"

"Because your parents had many friends, Harry, and most had at least seen you when you were a baby. And as for the others; they all trust Dumbledore with their lives, and are aware of how highly he thinks of you."

"I just wish I knew what the hell made me so damned special," Harry growled. "I'm so tired of this, Remus. I just don't think I can take much more."

The agony in his voice made his friend wince in sympathy. "You're a lot stronger than you believe, Harry," he said quietly. "You're a Potter and an Evans through and through."

"I don't even know what that means," Harry shook his head dejectedly.

Remus moved so that their shoulders were touching and leaned his head back on the tree trunk. "Well then, I think it's past time you heard more of what your parents were like…" he began, and before Harry knew it, the sun was hanging low on the horizon and he could hear Ron calling for him.

"I think we should rejoin the others before they begin to worry that you've run away," Remus smiled. He rose and brushed off his faded jeans before extending a hand and helping Harry to stand. He turned to go, and Harry stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks," Harry said. "I think this is the best present I could get for my birthday."

"What's that?" Remus cocked his head inquiringly.

"Memories." And with that one word, Harry squeezed his friend's shoulder before moving to the edge of the grove. He didn't notice the sorrowful smile on the man's face as he watched Harry walk away.

Harry hadn't realized how late it was until he emerged from the garden and saw how few people were left. Ron was standing by a bushy fence separating the Burrow from a field, and came towards Harry with a relieved look on his face. "Oy, Harry!" he greeted his friend with a grin. "Here I thought you'd taken your dad's cloak and snuck off on me," he teased.

Harry smiled. "What, and miss opening all my presents?" he kidded back. At Ron's chortle, his eyes widened. "You're not serious. People brought presents?"

Ron couldn't help himself; he burst out laughing at Harry's flabbergasted expression.

"But… but…" Harry didn't know what to say.

"Really, Harry, what kind of a birthday party would it be without presents?" Remus said as he came out of the grove.

"B-but… I didn't ask for anything," Harry stammered. "I didn't want them to…"

"As a matter of fact," Ron piped in. "Mum even said for people to not bring presents, but most of them insisted on _some_thing." He led his dumbfounded friend back to the group of large wooden tables by the back of the house, two of which were literally covered in envelopes and packages of all sizes.

Harry just stood by the tables for a few minutes, looking like he'd been stunned, and then turned to his best friend. "And where am I going to put all this stuff?"

As it was growing dark rather quickly, all of the presents were moved inside to the Weasley's dining room table. It turned out most of the gifts were either practical or thoughtful. Even Fred and George pitched in a gift as well.

"It's a helmet," Fred explained.

"Since we won't be there to watch your back in Quidditch this year," George added with a sidewise look at Mrs. Weasley, who was thankfully out of earshot.

Harry held up the yellow and red helmet and inspected the Gryffindor insignia emblazoned on the side. "Thanks, I think," he said. The twins just grinned.

Other presents were simple cards and gift certificates to various stores in Hogsmeade, and Harry also got an elegant set of personalized stationary with a raven's quill and emerald green porcelain inkwell from his fellow Gryffindor 6th years. The rest of the presents were simple pictures, many wizarding and others Muggle-style, of Harry and various classmates… although most of them were of Harry, Ron and Hermione.

One particular gift was wrapped in silver tissue paper, and the card attached to the gift bag indicated in spidery handwriting that it was from Dumbledore.

Harry pulled out a small, plain hardbound leather book. He opened the cover and read the first page.

"'My darling boy'," he said out loud. "'You were just born this morning, and I'm writing this as you sleep next to your mother.'" Harry's eyes widened, and he looked up at Ron, who was sitting across from him at the dining room table. "Ron, this must be some kind of diary of my dad's."

Ron's eyebrows bunched together questioningly. "Wonder why Dumbledore waited this long to give it to you?"

"Because, boys," Mr. Weasley stepped up behind Harry and laid a hand on his shoulder. "There are things written in there that Dumbledore had felt would've been difficult and even dangerous for Harry to know about… until now." He looked solemnly at the young wizard beside him. "No Harry," he said at the boy's questioning look, "I didn't read it, but I know some of what that diary's about. Mostly at the end. Since your parents were members of the Order, there are certain details that all of us are aware of. And now that things are the way they are, it's about time you knew everything we did, lad."

Harry swallowed hard, and nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Weasley."

"Now, one of the reasons Molly had mentioned going to Headquarters was that we're going to be having a meeting tomorrow night," Arthur continued as he sat down next to Harry. "I sent word to the others about your… reservations, Harry, and they all agreed to have it here for now."

"But Mr. Weasley," Hermione interrupted from her seat beside Ron. "Won't that be dangerous? At least there you have all sorts of wards and protective spells set up. Here…"

"It's all right, Hermione," Mr. Weasley said with a wave of his hand. "Charlie, Bill and I've already taken certain measures to place safeguards here, and Dumbledore will lend a hand when he arrives tomorrow." He looked directly at Harry. "There are some things we will need to bring you up to speed on, Harry, and Dumbledore wants to be here for that."

Harry nodded again. "Okay."

"Will we be able to attend the meeting?" Hermione asked.

Mr. Weasley smiled. "I don't see how we'd keep you and Ron out of it, since I'm sure Harry will just tell you anyway." He chuckled as the three teens nodded. "So yes, it's been decided that you and Ron should become members as well. Mind you," he fixed each of the two with a stern look. "None of you should discuss Order business outside of the meetings, and especially at school. Even though there is relative safety for you at Hogwarts, there are still unfriendly ears there."

"Malfoy," Harry said with a tinge of malice.

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Not necessarily, but you never know, Harry. Best for you three to keep your mouths shut and your ears open this year. You still have this and next year until you're out of school, and that's what we want you to focus your attention on. Understand?"

The three nodded, although Harry had a particularly gloomy look on his face.

"I understand this will be quite hard for you to do, Harry," Mr. Weasley said sympathetically. "But I promise we shall keep you up to date on the goings on; and if any of you hear anything this year, be sure to let us know as well, okay?"

"All right, Dad," Ron replied seriously.

The rest of the evening was spent quietly talking about this and that, until Mrs. Weasley shooed everyone off to bed.


	4. School Daze

**Chapter 4 – School Daze**

The rest of the summer passed quite pleasantly for Harry. The one thing he absolutely had to take care of, though, was the settling of Sirius' estate. Grimmauld Place would remain the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, but Harry just couldn't bring himself to go there. It was too soon after losing his godfather, and the thought of going to the house made his stomach churn unpleasantly.

But unfortunately that included what needed to be done with Kreacher. The elderly house elf had become quite belligerent after Sirius had died, and as Harry was the legitimate heir, he was the only one who could make the creature behave. So he indeed had to go the house, and he'd decided after much discussion with Dumbledore and Hermione to banish the house elf, and presented Kreacher with a small pair of trousers and a shirt that Hermione had insisted on making with the assertion that if he were to be kicked out of his only home that he should at least be dressed for the weather. Kreacher had put up quite a horrid display of his wrath at being denied his mistresses' house, and eventually Harry had to force the incensed creature out with magic. Although the teen did allow the elf to take a few of the personal effects of Mrs. Black that he'd stolen in an effort to preserve them.

The whole encounter had left Harry in such a foul mood that everyone left him alone for the next couple of days.

There were two meetings of the Order at the Weasley's after that, which didn't amount to much other than increasing Harry's worry that something was brewing… something horrible. Things were just _too_ quiet…

The week before the term started, everyone traveled to Diagon Alley for the yearly restocking of supplies and buying of books and robes. Ginny had quite a growth spurt over the summer, and Harry was chagrined to admit that the youngest Weasley was now easily as tall as he was. Hermione had also grown a bit, so the two girls headed off for Madame Malkin's Robes For Every Occasion while Harry and Ron struck out on their own.

"Meet us at Fortescue's in two hours, everyone!" Mrs. Weasley's voice cut through the crowd's chatter.

Harry noticed that he received a lot more sympathetic looks this year, of which he pointed out to Ron.

"Looks like the wizarding world's coming to its senses, Harry," Ron said as they passed the owl shop.

"And it only took Voldemort coming inside the bloody Ministry of Magic to convince them," Harry replied sourly.

Ron didn't answer, but cast a concerned glance at his friend out of the corner of his eye. The two walked for a bit more before Ron caught Harry's arm and dragged him over to a small shop window.

"Harry! It's Fred and George's shop!"

Indeed it was. A carved wooden sign hanging over the shop entrance declared the name to be Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, with an animated Fred and George taking turns tossing various spells at each other and doubling over in laughter at the results.

Inside, business looked to be quite good for the twins, as the shop was mostly full of students of all ages from Hogwarts.

"Ron? Harry?" Fred's voice carried over the chatter of the crowd. Bright red hair bobbed towards the two until the young man came up beside them. Fred clapped Ron on the shoulder before shaking Harry's hand. "Bugger, it's good to see you two chaps here! George… George!" he hollered over the heads of the mostly shorter crowd. "Ron and Harry's here!"

"Ickle Ronniekins?" George boomed from directly behind them, and both Harry and Ron jumped. "Harry, ol' chap, great to see you again!"

Ron shook his head in disgust. "You two act like we haven't seen you in years, when it's only been two weeks!"

"Two weeks? Is that all? My, how time flies when one is making loads of money!" Fred beamed, and George nodded vigorously with an evil twinkle in his eye. "So, my fine young sirs, might we interest you in some of our standard spell packages? No?" his grin slanted to look more sly. "No, I suppose not, since our baby brother has been on the receiving end of most of them."

The twins led Harry and Ron through the store, proudly pointing out the displays and various products they were selling.

Ron was quite curious whether anyone had found out whom their "anonymous investor" was, and even said so.

"My dear, dear young man," George intoned drolly. "We would never abuse the confidentiality of our benefactors. They are merely a silent partner in our burgeoning empire."

"In other words," Ron interjected wryly with a wink at Harry, "The less mum knows, the safer your 'financial backer' is from her wrath."

"Precisely, my boy," Fred beamed, and Harry fought to keep the grin from his face.

"Speaking of mum," George interjected. "She'll be quite pleased to know that Dumbledore spoke with us, and we'll be finishing our studies part time while we run the shop."

"Really?" Harry was impressed. "How are you going to manage that?"

"Never mind that; _why_ is Dumbledore doing this?" Ron interrupted.

"Easy," the twins replied at the same time.

"He said that because of last year's… How did he say it, George?" Fred asked.

"'Distractions'," George replied with a smirk. "Basically, since Umbridge was such a disruptive bitch, Dumbledore said that our expulsion has been wiped from the school records, and that we're more than welcome to finish our last year."

"But since we have the shop now," Fred continued, "We were able to make arrangements with him so that we can still keep it open."

"Good man, that Dumbledore," George said, and his twin nodded. "Bloke appreciates a good joke, too."

A little while later, Ron and Harry left the busy shop with a free bag of various jokes and trick spells each.

"To test on Peeves for us," the twins explained. "Don't worry, we'll compensate you for your assistance."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Ron muttered, and he and Harry made their way to Flourish and Blotts to buy their textbooks.

At the end of the two hours, everyone met up at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and enjoyed a treat.

"You know," Ron commented around a mouthful of hot fudge and peanut butter. "I haven't seen Malfoy anywhere today."

"Good," Ginny piped in. "He's an insufferable prat. Probably stayed home 'cause he's so embarrassed about his dad."

"Young lady, you will not speak like that around me," Mrs. Weasley admonished, and her youngest merely shrugged in response.

"Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked, and the man nodded. "Now that the Dementors have abandoned Azkaban, how is the Ministry taking care of convicted criminals?"

"Good question, Harry," Mr. Weasley replied, wiping some ice cream from the corner of his mouth. "They're still using Azkaban Island for prisoners, but have made some magical additions to ensure that there are no escapes."

"Like what, Dad?" Ron asked.

"I'm not at liberty to share that, Ron," Mr. Weasley replied quietly. "But I can say that convicts' wands are confiscated and broken. Which reminds me, Harry: the Death Eaters we captured at the Ministry are going up for trial in about a month from now, and you'll be needed to provide testimony."

Harry's face fell. "Oh," was all he could manage to get around the sudden huge lump in his throat. The half-finished sundae in front of him became very unappealing right then, and he pushed it away with a queasy feeling in his stomach.

"Don't worry, Harry, you're not the only one," Mrs. Weasley tried to sound comforting. "Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and your friends Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood will also have to be there to give their official accounts to the Wizengamut."

"Boy, this just sounds better and better," Ron mumbled, looking as white as Harry felt. "Why don't we just paint bright red targets on our backs while we're at it?"

"Too late, Ron," Harry replied quietly, and his best friend's eyes widened in realization.

"Right," Ron said, and gulped. He was looking particularly green around the gills now, and his mother reached over the table to grasp his hand reassuringly.

"My dear, don't you fret," she soothed. "You're all under the protection of the Order now, and you'll be quite safe at the school."

Ron just gave Harry and an unnaturally silent Hermione an almost panicked look. They all knew that if Voldemort was personally able to penetrate the school's defenses, _twice_, then it could be done again. It was just a matter of when, who, and how.

"This year just keeps getting better and better, huh Harry?" His voice broke when he said "huh", and Harry nodded morosely.

HP

A week later, it was the usual rush at the train station to get to Platform 9 3/4's. For once there were no obstacles in Harry's way: no suddenly sealed portals and no one lying in wait to make any assassination attempts. But that didn't mean that Harry's escort would be any less alert; Tonks and Moody were going to be Harry and the other's guards all the way to the school. It just didn't hurt to be extra careful nowadays.

The train ride was also uneventful, and Harry just couldn't help feeling all the more anxious over that. What was Voldemort up to? Now that the Dark Wizard had a substantial corporeal form, and was gaining strength by the day, Harry thought for sure there would have been assassination attempts one right after another. But this strange inactivity frayed Harry's already unsteady nerves, and he spent the entire ride tensely staring out the train's window. Not even a game of Exploding Snap or the enticing smells from the snack witches' cart were enough to move Harry from his seat.

Later that evening, the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, and Harry and the others made their way to the thestral-drawn carriages. Tonks and Moody bade their charges farewell, and Apparated back to the Order's headquarters.

And still Harry and the others didn't see Draco Malfoy anywhere.

As the carriages began to move up the road, Harry's scar suddenly burst into white-hot agony, and he could barely manage a grunt as his head flew back against the seat. It felt like he was being ripped to shreds, and his back arched as he gasped for air around the excruciating pain.

"Oh my god, Harry!" Ron shouted from what sounded like miles away, and Harry could barely hear Hermione's cry through the roaring in his ears.

And just as suddenly, the agony disappeared. Harry collapsed onto the floor of the carriage, drained, shivering, and covered in sweat. He could barely open his eyes as he felt his two best friends hoist him back up on to the seat, lay him down and check him over. He didn't even have the energy to throw up.

"Harry? Harry, speak to me!" Hermione said urgently.

"M'okay," he whispered. Every sound was like a searing knife in his head, and Harry raised violently shaking hands to his ears to cut the noise down. "Man, he's really pissed."

"Who… Voldemort?" Hermione asked. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron! Harry, can you open your eyes?"

"Don' wanna," he whimpered. "Hurts."

"Was this what it was like in your uncle's car?" Ron spoke softly. He remembered how sensitive Harry's hearing was after one of these attacks.

"Worse," Harry replied. "Something got away."

"What?" both of his friends asked simultaneously.

But Harry couldn't answer, as his head and the rest of his body ached to the very core, begging for unconsciousness to make it go away. He fought the encroaching blackness with every fiber of his being, not wanting to deal with the embarrassment of having to be taken to the Infirmary before school had even started.

The carriage finally bumped to a stop, and Harry moaned a little as even the slight motion jarred his pounding head. He heard the carriage door open, and hands gently picked him up and carried him outside.

"Wotcher, Harry," he heard Hagrid's voice murmur above him, and he realized that the half-giant was carrying him like a baby. But at the moment he could have cared less, as every movement caused shards of now ice-cold glass to spear his brain. Unknowingly, Harry curled up into a ball in Hagrid's huge arms, trying to escape from the pain.

"Don' worry, Ron, Hermione," Hagrid said to the others. "I'll have Madame Pomfrey take a look at 'im. You go on in now."

Harry heard shocked whispers, murmurs, and outright exclamations as Hagrid quickly carried him into the castle. "No," he whispered.

"Wha's tha', Harry?" Hagrid stopped so he could hear his charge's words more clearly.

"No 'mfirm'ry," Harry spoke a little louder. "'M fine. Jus' headache."

"Too far ta get ta the Infirmary, lad," Hagrid replied. "We're jus' nippin' off ta the study besides the Grea' Hall." And with that he strode quickly to his destination and gently set Harry on an overstuffed couch.

Harry dared to crack open an eye, and was thankful that the room was dimly lit. Hagrid stooped to stick his head out the door and motion for Madame Pomfrey before backing up and standing beside the couch with a worried expression on his face.

The mediwitch bustled into the room, and let out a startled exclamation when she saw who needed the emergency treatment. "Mister Potter! What on earth happened?"

Harry winced and covered his ears. "Voldemort's mad," he mumbled.

The woman paled noticeably, swiftly knelt in front of him and efficiently checked him over. She felt around in her apron, and grumbled to herself before rising and moving back to the doorway to the Great Hall. She opened the door and gestured to someone.

Harry's stomach dropped when both Professors Snape and Dumbledore entered the room. He shut his eyes tightly, wishing that he could just fade into the couch.

"Harry, are you all right?" the Headmaster asked softly, just as Professor Snape dryly commented, "Potter. I should have known all this fuss was over him."

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid spoke up. "Harry had an attack in the carriage. Ron an' Hermione said i' was t'do with Voldemor'."

Madame Pomfrey pulled a suddenly pale Professor Snape aside and quietly asked him if he could fetch her one of his stronger potions. He glared at Harry, but immediately left to get it while Dumbledore knelt beside the couch.

"What happened?" the older wizard asked quietly.

"Something got away from him," Harry repeated. "He's beyond pissed. Feels like…" he winced as his head let off a particularly painful throb, and his vision became tinged with black.

"Don't speak any more, Harry. We'll give you something for the headache," Dumbledore soothed as he lightly rested cool fingers on Harry's sweat-dappled forehead.

"Wan' me ta ge' the other two?" Hagrid asked.

"No, that's all right, Hagrid. Thank you for your assistance," the headmaster replied somberly. "Maybe you should check on things outside?"

Harry heard the gamekeeper move towards the door. "I'll see ya in a bi', Harry," he said before he left the room.

"Harry, we should get you to the Infirmary so you can rest," Dumbledore spoke quietly.

"No, just give me something for the headache, and I'll be fine," Harry replied, and pushed himself shakily into a sitting position. The pain was beginning to fade a little, and he squinted his eyes at the others in the room. "It's starting to get better," he added.

Madame Pomfrey scowled at him. "Young man, in your delicate state you have no…"

"I'm _not_ delicate," Harry cut her off curtly as he massaged his tender temples. "It's just a bloody headache. I'll be fine."

She opened her mouth to argue with him further, but Dumbledore stepped in.

"Perhaps it might behoove Mr. Potter to partake of some food before he retires for the evening?"

Madame Pomfrey glared at him, but he didn't waver. "Hecate!" she threw up her hands in frustration. "Men!"

Professor Snape re-entered the room and handed a vial to Madame Pomfrey before sweeping back out with nary a glance at Harry.

She came over to the couch and measured out a large spoonful of a thin yellow liquid. "This will take care of the pain, but you will need to eat something so your stomach doesn't get upset," she advised firmly. "And then I want you to go straight to bed and rest, young man," she ordered.

Harry grimaced as he swallowed the bitter potion. "Right after the feast," he replied, and the mediwitch rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Within seconds a warm sensation spread out from Harry's stomach to the rest of his body, dulling the pain until he could almost ignore it. He stood up, and the room swayed a little. Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey caught each of his elbows and steadied him as he got his bearings. "Thanks, Madame Pomfrey," Harry said gratefully, and she smiled a little.

She pressed a smaller bottle into his hand. "Take one teaspoon every 4 hours in case the pain comes back," she said, and he nodded. "Now, go out there and eat something, young man."

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned, and with a grateful nod to both, Harry left the room on much steadier feet and made his way to the Gryffindor table. Stragglers were still entering the Great Hall, and the hall was abuzz with students discussing what had just happened. Ron and Hermione sat there looking extremely worried, and didn't notice Harry's quiet approach until Ginny and Neville jumped up to give him room to sit down.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed happily. "Why aren't you…"

"It's just a headache, Ron," Harry replied acerbically. "Madame Pomfrey gave me something for it, and I'll be fine in a few hours."

"That wasn't just any headache, Harry," Hermione retorted. "You looked like you were having convulsions!"

"'Mione, please keep your voice down," Harry sat down. Others who had seen Hagrid carry Harry into the castle were now staring openly at him, and he felt like he did in his fourth year all over again. "Look, I'll be fine once I get something to eat. And yes, I promised Madame Pomfrey that I'd go straight to bed after the feast."

His friends didn't have anything else they could add to their protests, so they fell silent.

"Where's Hagrid?" Ron wondered, and Harry and Hermione looked around the Hall. "I saw him come out of that side room, but he hasn't come back yet."

"Maybe he's taking care of some last minute things with his creatures?" Ginny replied thoughtfully. "I'm really looking forward to his class this year. I mean... knowing him, he'd have a baby dragon for us to study."

A few minutes later, Professor McGonagall entered, leading the nervous first years between the middle two tables to the Head Table. She instructed them to line up, and Professor Flitwick came out carrying the stool and the Sorting Hat.

Professor McGonagall had just sat down the third student when Hagrid's huge dog Fang came barreling into the Hall, barking furiously.

Everyone gasped, and quite a few of the first years screamed in fear, but Professor Dumbledore quickly rose and practically darted for the door, immediately followed by Professor McGonagall.

"Everyone, stay where you are! Severus, we'll need Poppy!" she shouted over the furor as she swept out of the room, and a white Professor Snape stood and bellowed for silence.

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other, immediately slipped under their table and scurried to the end of the Hall. Ron was the first to reach the end of the Gryffindor table, and peeked out to see if anyone had noticed their sudden disappearance, but everyone's attention was on the remaining Professors and the panicked first years. Snape had sent Madame Hooch running for the Infirmary at Professor McGonagall's orders, and was apparently doing his best to try to calm down the students. Obviously, being as imposing as he was in the best of circumstances, Professor Snape was succeeding in only further panicking the younger students with his fierce look and tone.

Ron led the other two in an awkward shuffle to the double doors and quickly dashed through them. They ran to the front doors and hid beside them, gasping for breath. One of the doors was ajar, and the teens peeked around to see what was going on.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were rushing towards the distant but obvious figure of Hagrid, who was pointing to an erratically moving speck in the evening sky.

The speck quickly grew into the shape of a person on a broom.

A smoking, broken broom, which suddenly dive-bombed towards the ground halfway to the Forbidden Forest. But the person managed to wrench the end up enough to level off about 15 meters from the earth below.

"It's a woman!" Ron exclaimed.

Harry squinted his eyes around the headache threatening to return, and confirmed his friend's observation. "You're right, Ron. She looks hurt."

The woman finally lost complete control over the broom, and hurtled to the ground at a breakneck pace. Small clods of dirt and grass exploded outwards in an arc from the force of the woman's impact, and Hermione gasped.

Dumbledore and McGonagall ran even faster, and came to the crash site just as Hagrid got there and brushed some of the debris off of the fallen witch.

"No way she could've survived that," Ron murmured.

"Look!" Hermione pointed, and the other two saw Madames Pomfrey and Hooch dash across the lawn from the direction of the Infirmary. The Headmaster conferred with the mediwitch for a moment before turning and levitating the fallen woman. Everyone rushed to the medical wing, but Hagrid stopped and carefully picked up something from the small hole in the ground before following the others at a ground-eating stride.

Wordlessly, Harry and his friends turned to make their way after the others, but they skidded to a stop at the sudden appearance of Mr. Filch, the caretaker.

He sneered at them as he stroked the long fur on top of Mrs. Norris' head. The cat was sitting quite primly in her human's arms, her red eyes glaring at the errant students in almost malevolent glee.

"Oh, I thought I'd find you nosy children here," Filch practically purred. His face spread into his trademark evil grin, and he curtly gestured for the teens to precede him. "My, yes, you are going to be in trouble," he finished with a dry chuckle. Caught, Harry, Ron and Hermione were marched back into the Great Hall, and they sat back down in their vacated seats while Filch made his way to the teacher's table to report to Snape.

About thirty minutes later, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hooch reentered the Great Hall, and the Sorting Ceremony continued as if nothing had happened. Only Harry, Ron and Hermione noticed the rather worried expressions on the two elders' faces.


	5. The Usual Suspects

Harry woke with a start the next morning with Ron shaking his shoulder.

"Harry! C'mon, mate, you're gonna be late for class!"

"All right, all right, I'm up!" Harry grumbled as he automatically reached for his glasses. He sat up in his bed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Wha' time izzit?" he said around a huge yawn.

Ron let go of his shoulder, looking relieved. "You missed breakfast, Harry," he replied as he held out some muffins wrapped in a napkin. "First class is Transfiguration, and you know how McGonagall gets when we're late."

Harry looked at the timepiece on his side table, and his eyes widened. "Shit! Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

Ron's brow furrowed. "I tried, mate, but it sounded like you had a pretty rough time of it last night."

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped to the floor with a 'thump'. He shook himself before quickly stripping and pulling on his school robes, grabbed his book satchel and two of the muffins and followed Ron at a trot down the stairs into the common room. "Yeah, pretty much how it goes every night," he mumbled around a mouthful of blueberry muffin. "Did I wake everyone?"

Ron shook his head from in front of Harry. "Just Neville and me. Seamus and Dean could sleep through a bleeding hurricane, I bet." He slowed down a little to let Harry catch up with his longer strides. "I'm worried about you, Harry." He regarded his best friend with concerned blue eyes.

Harry just shrugged. "I'm dealing with it, Ron."

"You should talk to Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall about it."

But Harry shook his head. "What can they do about it? Talking doesn't change anything."

"No, but it'd make you feel better," the red head persisted.

Harry didn't answer, but instead shoved the last bit of the first muffin in his mouth and broke into a ground-eating lope.

The two barely made it into the classroom before the bell rang, and slid into the last two seats near the front of the room.

After class was over, Professor McGonagall called to Harry as he was packing away his parchment, quill and ink.

"Mister Potter, a word please."

Harry and Ron exchanged questioning glances, and Ron shrugged as he made his way to the door and a waiting Hermione.

"You missed breakfast this morning," the Professor leveled an assessing look at the young man. "Are you having any pain still?"

"No, Professor," he replied awkwardly. _'Why does everyone treat me like I'm bleeding fragile?'_ he thought in exasperation.

"The Headmaster asked me to give this to you," she held out a small parchment with Dumbledore's seal on it. "And Potter,"

Harry turned back to the woman, as he'd taken the parchment and swiveled towards the door to the classroom.

"What you three saw last night is not to be discussed… with anyone. Is that understood?"

Harry nodded, his stomach sinking. Looked like Snape had blabbed about Filch catching them. 'Great.' "Yes, ma'am."

"You may go," she dismissed him, and Harry hurried from the room to join his waiting friends.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked as Harry fell into step with the other two.

Harry opened the paper and read the brief message. "Looks like Professor Dumbledore wants to have my first Occlumency lesson tonight," he replied thoughtfully. He rolled up the parchment and shoved it deeply into an inside pocket of his robes. "That, and McGonagall said we're not supposed to talk about what we saw last night."

"What would we say?" Hermione wondered. "It's not like we really saw anything."

"I think they don't want anyone else to know about our… guest," Harry replied quietly. He frowned as a thought hit him. "I wonder if this has anything to do with Voldemort."

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks as the three continued to their next class.

All day Harry fought to stay awake and alert as questions swirled through his mind. He barely made it through Potions, although Professor Snape for once didn't harass him; he just broodingly glared at the young man. Dinner passed in a bit of a blur, and when seven o'clock came around, Harry found himself standing in front of the stone griffin.

"Chocolate Frogs," he said, and the statue moved aside. He ascended the stairs and knocked on the office door. Hearing a muffled "Come in," Harry entered the room.

Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, but Fawkes was resting on his perch by the desk. As Harry crossed the room, a voice cleared its throat, and the teen looked around him to identify the speaker.

"Over here, Mr. Potter," said one of the paintings.

Ah. It was Phineas Nigellus, a former headmaster and ancestor of…

Sirius. Great.

"Yes, sir?" Harry replied cordially.

"How are you carrying on?" the solemn man queried.

"As best I can, I suppose," Harry said.

The man nodded. "Yes, yes, I expect you would be. I haven't seen you at the other house this summer, and was wondering…"

"I - I can't go there… not yet," Harry murmured, averting his eyes for a moment. "Don't worry, sir, it's being well taken care of."

The painting merely nodded somberly. "I understand. While I was not fond of my great, great grandson, he was a stout man with principles, and I respected that." The painting sighed a little before continuing. "When you are able to go to the house, let me know, and I will help you with anything I can there."

Harry's face fell a little. "Thank you, sir," he murmured, touched, and turned back towards the phoenix at the painting's nod. Fawkes rested on his perch, watching Harry's approach with his head tilted to the side.

"Hullo, Fawkes," the young man murmured, and held out his hand for the creature to inspect. Fawkes merely dipped his head in greeting and stretched out in an obvious request for a scratch. Harry obliged, the simple interaction doing much to improve his dark mood.

"Ah, Harry, it does my heart good to see you and Fawkes getting on so well," Dumbledore's voice wafted over the railing of the small balcony above the office.

Harry looked up to see the Headmaster smiling kindly at him from the top of the stairs. "Good evening, Professor," he replied.

Dumbledore came down to stand beside Harry and Fawkes, and laid a gentle hand on his young charge's shoulder. "How are you, my boy?"

Harry paused a moment before answering. "Confused."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well spoken, lad, well spoken." He went to the crackling fireplace and sat in his comfy armchair. "Come, we have much to discuss."

Harry seated himself in the other chair across from the headmaster, whose face had suddenly lengthened and looked worried. A few quiet minutes passed as Harry waited for Dumbledore to speak.

"As you know, Harry, there have been some disturbing events as of late, and I know you have many questions, but I must ask that you remain patient for the time being," the headmaster finally spoke.

Harry merely tilted his head to the side questioningly.

"I shall inform you immediately as soon as I have answers," Dumbledore continued. "But for right now, we must continue your lessons at Occlumency, so that you should not have to bear the burden of a repeat of last year."

Harry visibly winced, and Dumbledore looked at him sadly. "I know you still blame yourself for what happened, Harry. All I can do is reassure you that you are indeed not at fault. If anyone is to blame, it is I."

Harry blinked. "No, sir."

"Yes, Harry. I can only hope that someday you shall forgive my grievous errors in judgment. Had I taught you Occlumency last year instead of Severus as I should have, you would have been more prepared for Voldemort's assaults upon your mind. Instead, I did the worst thing possible, and distanced myself from you when you needed me the most." Dumbledore paused, looking positively ancient in his grief. "And my mistakes allowed Voldemort and his followers to take Sirius from you."

Harry felt numb from having to go over this again. "Professor, you couldn't have known…"

But he was cut off by a simple wave of Dumbledore's hand. "No, my boy. I knew of many possible ramifications of my inaction, but chose instead to be swayed by my love and fear for you. You have paid a terrible price, and for that I am truly sorry."

Silence fell thickly between the two. It was many minutes before Harry could gather his swirling thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence. He looked straight at Dumbledore, and said, "I don't blame you." And strangely enough, he didn't. Not any more. All of the fury Harry had felt over the events of last year seemed to have melted away, leaving only this deep and terrible sadness.

Dumbledore met Harry's gaze, and was quite touched by the simple honesty and anguish he saw. His eyes began to twinkle slightly. "Well, my boy, if you're feeling up to it, I suggest we get on with tonight's lesson, hm?"

Harry nodded, and prepared himself for the worst.

To say that Dumbledore's method of instruction was quite different from Professor Snape's was a vast understatement.

First, the headmaster gave Harry the Pensieve to place a few choice memories in, and Harry decided to put in his most vivid nightmares from the past few months. Then Dumbledore acquainted himself with the swirling thoughts before discussing different ways Harry could defend himself from mental attacks.

Then, as Harry sat there telling Dumbledore how Professor Snape had chosen to run his so-called "lessons", he suddenly found himself standing in a very dank and dark part of the Forbidden Forest.

"Professor?" He blinked in surprise, but no one answered.

The hair on the back of Harry's neck prickled, and he whirled around.

Standing not a meter from him was a Dementor, and Harry gasped. But his vision didn't darken; he didn't hear the distant screams of his dying parents. He only felt a deep, bone-chilling cold seep into his body, and he realized that he couldn't move his feet.

"Wha… what do you want?" he stammered. And in answer, the cloaked Dementor pointed, not at Harry, but over his shoulder.

Harry swiveled, as his feet seemed rooted to the ground for some reason, and felt the blood rush from his head.

Behind him was a giant oak tree, gnarled and twisted into something menacingly evil. Tied to each of its swaying branches by only their arms was a person, and Harry gasped. Every member of the Order of the Phoenix was there: which included the entire Weasley family, Dumbledore, Professors McGonagall and Snape, Madame Pomfrey, Hagrid, Remus, Tonks, Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mundungus Fletcher, Arabella Figg... and Ron and Hermione. What completely floored Harry was that he also saw Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Seamus Finnigan, Lavender Brown, Parvati and Padma Patil, Cho Chang and the rest of Harry's D.A. group… and Draco Malfoy of all people stretched over the massive trunk of the tree as well.

But that wasn't the worst of it. At the very top of the tree were 6 people, impaled upon the unnaturally sharpened ends of the shortened branches up there. There were Harry's parents; their limp bodies softly lit by a sickly green glow and their empty eye sockets glaring right at him. Sirius Black was next to them, his chest sprayed with blood from the living branch that had burst through his heart and wrapped itself around him. And most unlikely of all, the Dursley's were there; their mouths frozen in horrified screams of terror as they watched the tree branches slowly squeeze their broken bodies like boa constrictors.

Harry barely noticed the rotting hand of the Dementor resting itself on his head. A part of his brain was too busy gibbering in terror at seeing those he cared about (and Malfoy and the Dursley's too) being tortured and held in front of him like some diseased carrot to notice the foreign entity rustling around inside him… searching… searching. But the rest of his mind somehow knew he was being mentally attacked. He forced himself to turn away from the horrifying tree and face the Dementor.

"It won't work, you know. This isn't real."

The Dementor howled, and Harry felt an arctic blast rip right through him. He smiled mirthlessly at the creature, closed his eyes and concentrated on the amusing picture of Dudley's fat arse sprouting a curly little pig's tail as he scarfed up Harry's 11th birthday cake. He intentionally lost himself in the memory, and chuckled as he again heard his cousin's undignified squeak that had morphed into a full-throated howl of terror.

Very much like the howl coming from the creature in front of Harry.

He opened his eyes to notice that the Dementor had changed, and was the image of the portly Dudley, swimming in black robes too large for even him. Harry laughed outright at that, and shoved himself away from the apparition in front of him.

He opened his eyes once again to focus on the crackling fire in front of him.

"Excellent beginning, Harry," Dumbledore verbally applauded from the depths of his chair. The headmaster's eyes were twinkling with pride. "But you must not let me get so close next time. I was able to read some of your memories before you blocked me. Voldemort shall not be so relenting."

"Yes sir."

Things had gone so much better this time around, but that didn't keep Harry from feeling the strain and exhaustion from his efforts. The night's lesson over, he did his best to not stagger to the office door.

"Harry," Dumbledore called out from his chair, and the young man leaned on the doorframe as he turned back. "If you feel the need to sleep in a little tomorrow, I shall make sure you are excused from your first class."

Harry smiled wearily. His first class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, as in a last minute decision Dumbledore was going to teach it this year. "Thank you, sir. But I think I'll be all right."

"As you wish," the headmaster inclined his head. "And Harry,"

"Yes sir?"

"I know you are quite curious as to our guest, but for the time being we need to keep her presence here as quiet as possible. As soon as I am able, I shall fill you in on the pertinent details."

Harry nodded, too tired to press the matter. "Of course, Professor. G'night."

**oOo**

Weeks passed, and life at Hogwarts was blissfully uneventful. Harry, Ron and Hermione went to their classes as always, Harry's nightmares eased up, and surprisingly enough Malfoy was pretty much a non-entity after he'd finally showed up a couple of weeks into the term. Harry saw his Slytherin nemesis in Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and at the Great Hall for meals, but the white-haired teenager didn't even acknowledge his existence. Things seemed to be turning out quite nicely this year.

And, Quidditch season was fast approaching. Ginny had told Harry one evening in the Gryffindor common room that she was stepping down as Seeker this year, as she was only able to hold the position because "That sniveling toad Umbridge had persecuted you all last year, Harry." As this was Angelina Johnson's last year, she insisted that Ginny try out for one of the open Beater positions. And it turned out that the youngest Weasley was quite good at it.

The first practice was on Saturday, and Harry and Ron strolled out onto the crisp but yet still warm air of the school grounds with their brooms hanging over their shoulders. They'd just begun walking across the grass when three shadows loomed in front of them.

"Where do you think you're going?" Draco Malfoy drawled mockingly, and Harry and Ron had to stop so they didn't run into the Slytherin and his goon squad, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Is it me, Harry, or did you hear something?" Ron asked quite innocently as he looked at his best friend. "I could have sworn that one of Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts'd gotten loose again."

Before Harry could even smile in amusement, Malfoy stepped right into Ron's face and growled, "It is not wise for you to mock me, Weasley."

Ron's eyes widened, and he looked back at Harry. "I do say, mate, those skrewts've gotten a whole lot uglier this year too."

"_Silencio_," Malfoy hissed, and Ron's mouth opened and shut a couple of times as he fought and failed to speak. The blond Slytherin then turned to Harry, his one hand in the pocket of his robes. "I say again, Potter, where do you think you're going?"

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "As if you couldn't tell, Malfoy," he sneered the other boy's name, "Ron and I are going to Quidditch practice. Being a prefect does not entitle you to continue harassing either of us, you know. _Finite Incantatum_."

Malfoy affected an innocent look. "Why, Potter, why would I ever stoop so low as to harass you? I'm merely curious as to why you think you can play Quidditch after you were banned for life last year."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Dumbledore had reversed quite a few of Umbridge's little decrees as soon as he'd returned to the school, and you know it. And I wouldn't mind hearing why you weren't here beginning of the term."

Draco smirked at that. "My mother came into a bit of money, and needed my assistance in London."

"What?" Harry looked as confused as he felt.

"After Sirius Black had given up the ghost, his elf came to my mother and informed her of the inheritance of her cousin's house," the blond explained as if he were talking to a little child. "It took quite a while to find the place, but once there we found evidence of squatters." His pale eyes glinted knowingly.

The blood drained from Harry's head. Malfoy had gone to the Order's Headquarters? The noisy intake of breath from behind him let Harry know that Ron had reached the same conclusion. How much did Kreacher tell them!

But then Malfoy pouted. "Somehow they were able to seal the entrances, and even the elf couldn't find a way in. Oh well," he shrugged, "We'll work it out, and I'll have particular fun in making sure those vermin suffer for their interference."

"Why don't you go play tag with the merpeople, Malfoy?" Harry growled through the panic tightening his throat. "We have better things to do." And with that, he grabbed Ron's arm and shoved his way through the Slytherins. He just didn't want to think that the possibility existed that the Malfoys, and subsequently Voldemort and his Death Eaters, knew anything about the Order and the whereabouts of its Headquarters.

"I'm not finished with you, half-blood," Draco grabbed Harry's shoulder and swung him around.

Harry's temper flared, and he viciously knocked the other boy's hand away. "Yes, you are," he retorted.

"I'd watch your manners if I were you, Potter; this year your mutt can't run to save you," Malfoy said hatefully.

All the color drained out of Harry's face, and Ron laid a warning hand on his shoulder from beside him with a whispered, "Easy, mate." But instead of erupting into violence, Harry laughed harshly.

"What makes you think you can scare me, Malfoy? The only person who came close to doing that was Voldemort, and quite frankly, you're a bit pathetic compared to him."

Draco's eyes darkened in fury, and he began to whip his wand out of his pocket.

Only to have the butt of Ron's broom crash into his jaw, knocking him onto his ass.

Crabbe and Goyle reacted to that, and rushed towards the smaller boys with malevolent glee on their faces.

But Ron and Harry were faster; they both raised their wands and shouted "_REDUCTO_!" The three Slytherins flew backwards from the force of the spells, and slammed into the ground hard enough to knock the breath from them. Harry then growled "_Incarceratus_," and thick ropes shot out of his wand to tightly bind the other boys from shoulder to ankle.

Satisfied that there would be no more trouble from the trio, Harry and Ron set back off for the Quidditch field.

"Harry, are you sure it's such a good idea just leaving them there?" Ron sounded worried.

The raven-haired teen just shrugged. "C'mon, Ron, we're late as it is."

**oOo**

Angelina must have been in a very good mood that day – she only chewed out the two for 5 minutes before starting practice. Things progressed quite well, with Ron's game constantly improving and the new Beaters working on some new tactics. Harry swooped through the air, practicing his maneuvers and working out a few personal modifications to the Wronski Feint.

The three-hour practice was almost over when Harry saw the snitch fluttering right behind Ron's head. He grinned; his friend's nerve was about to be tested.

Harry shot straight towards the Keeper, and was thrilled when Ron didn't flinch in the slightest. At the last second, the snitch darted off to Ron's left, towards the announcer's stand, and Harry passed within inches of Ron's head as he sped after.

The golden orb zipped all over the place in an almost human effort to shake Harry, but he doggedly pursued, and was centimeters from grasping it when he heard distant shouts.

_'Nice try, Angelina,'_ he thought smugly. _'Not gonna break my concentration that way.'_ His fingers brushed the cool metal of the snitch when he was suddenly buffeted from his broom.

"Wha'?" was all he was able to utter before he felt himself falling. The ground rushed up to him, and he plowed headfirst into it with a sickening "crunch". Harry felt many bones snap, and amidst the muffled sounds of screams and shouts, he thankfully passed out.


	6. Rude Awakenings

Harry drifted in a sea of pain and confusion. He felt consciousness hesitantly approach, and blearily opened unfocused eyes to note that he was in the Infirmary.

Great. How long was he unconscious? He blinked and automatically reached for his glasses, which were most likely on the bedside table on his left, if memory served.

But his arm refused to move as it screamed in agony, and he gasped. He looked down at his body, and noticed his entire left side was swathed in bandages and splints. Harry's vision swam sickeningly as his head also voiced its intense protest over being used for a landing pad, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

Suddenly, an unearthly shriek of terror and fury shattered the pre-dawn darkness, and Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck rise against the pillow.

"**_AHHHHHHHHHHH!_**"

Two pairs of unknown feet pounded past Harry's bed from the entrance to the Infirmary, while Harry watched Madame Pomfrey dash out of her private rooms and out of sight towards the source of the screams from a gap in the curtains surrounding his bed. He strained to peer through it towards the commotion. But his head swam with dizziness, and agony shot down the left side of his body, causing Harry to pant as he desperately tried to not pass out again.

The person shrieked again, and Harry realized it was female. "EADOIN! ASH, _NOOOOOOOO_!"

The worst of the pain passed, and Harry bit his lip and tried to scoot up in his bed again. He used his unbroken right arm and leg to do it, and it still hurt like hell, but after a few agonizing seconds he managed to bring his head level with the break in the curtain. Harry licked away a bit of blood from where he'd bitten his mouth and carefully snagged his glasses with his right arm.

Madame Pomfrey and Professors McGonagall and Snape surrounded the hysterical woman a few beds down from Harry. It looked like both the Professors were trying to restrain her so that the mediwitch could give what was most likely a calming draught, but they were constantly shoved back by an unseen force as the pillow on the bed to the right exploded in a flurry of feathers.

"Part de lui, vous la chienne!" the woman screamed, and Madame Pomfrey cried out in surprise as she was buffeted backwards and promptly fell on her ass. The medicine bottle that she held in her hand shattered violently, and she bit off a scream of her own.

"Poppy!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed as another pillow blasted to bits. "She's going to tear this place apart!"

"Do you think?" Professor Snape snarled from where he was clutching and pinning the woman's shoulders to the mattress. "Gwendolyn, se calme! Vous êtes sûr ici. Vous êtes sûr!" he shouted down at the writhing woman.

Amazingly enough, that seemed to get through her panic, and the young woman collapsed back into her pillows, her wild eyes slowly focusing on Snape as she whimpered in pain. "Ils sont morts… ils sont tout mort… They're dead… they're all dead…" she murmured.

"Poppy, your hand," Professor McGonagall said. "Are you hurt?"

"Oh no, I'm fine," the mediwitch replied dismissively. "I've had this happen enough that I've taken precautions."

Madame Pomfrey had pulled herself up, and gently laid a hand on her patient's sweaty brow. "She's still feverish," she commented sadly as she brushed away a few strands of long black hair. "All I can continue to do is tend to her physical injuries, but for the emotional ones…" she drifted off. "Oh, you poor dear. What all did they do to you?"

The only answer from the delirious woman was the tears gliding down her face from half-open eyes.

"They tortured her, Poppy," Professor Snape growled. Harry was taken aback at the fury in his words and posture. "They tortured her and murdered her family. That's what Death Eaters do."

Madame Pomfrey's head shot up as she stared at the greasy Potions teacher. "I understand what they did to her body, Severus," she snapped. "But what they've done to her mind is even worse. There's nothing I can do to help her there. Once her fever has broken, I can't keep her here in the Infirmary. Thankfully Potter is my only other patient right now, but if there were others in here, I couldn't vouch for their safety."

The mediwitch measured out some of her potion and poured it into her patient's mouth. The young woman swallowed convulsively, and immediately her eyes drifted shut as consciousness faded.

"Speaking of Potter," Professor McGonagall said as the three adults gathered and made their way back towards the Infirmary's office. "How is he?"

Harry leaned back onto his pillow, his head spinning so much that he was feeling quite nauseous. He relaxed onto the mattress and allowed gravity to slide him back down to where he was originally lying as he closed his eyes in an effort to keep from vomiting.

"It's been three days and he hasn't woken yet," Madame Pomfrey replied quietly. "So I haven't been able to give him the necessary medicine to mend all of his broken bones. Those I can heal in a heartbeat, even though he's shattered about every one of them on his left side; but it's that head of his that has me worried…"

Professor Snape snorted. "I doubt there is much to damage up there," he commented wryly, and Harry grimaced at the man's tactlessness.

"Severus, that is uncalled for!" Professor McGonagall replied heatedly. "Considering who it was that attacked him in such a craven way…"

"There is no proof as to whom the aggressor was, Minerva," was the snapped reply. "Believe me when I say that if anyone from my house is proven guilty of the assault on Potter, I shall deal with them quite harshly."

Professor McGonagall didn't reply except for a very expressive and unladylike snort. The three adults passed by Harry's bed, and suddenly the curtain at the foot of it was pulled back to reveal Madame Pomfrey.

"My goodness Mr. Potter!" she exclaimed, and Professor McGonagall's fatigue-lined face popped over the mediwitches' shoulder. "How long have you been awake?"

"Um," Harry replied, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.

"Young man, you're white as a sheet!" the mediwitch fretted as she came to his side. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Harry fought to concentrate on the hand in front of him, but he just couldn't seem to get it in focus, even with his glasses on. "Dunno," he replied weakly. "Can't really… see it."

Madame Pomfrey frowned contemplatively. "You have quite a concussion, young man," she chided softly. "You're extremely lucky you didn't break your neck!"

"Poppy, now is not the time to be chastising Potter," Professor McGonagall commented wryly. "We all know your opinion on Quidditch, dear." The corners of her mouth quirked up in the tiniest of smiles at Madame Pomfrey's snort, and she strode around the bed to Harry's other side. "Harry, did you see who had done this?"

"No," Harry said honestly. "I was too busy… trying to grab the snitch… when something just… shoved me off my broom." He squeezed his eyes shut again in a desperate last-ditch effort to keep from vomiting. "'M sorry, think 'm… goin' t'be… sick." He gagged, and Madame Pomfrey quickly held a pan to his mouth as bile streamed out.

It felt like hours passed before Harry's stomach calmed down enough to allow him to breathe, and now his head felt like it was leaking rapidly out of his skull. It was as bad, if not worse, as the headache he'd gotten on the way to school from Voldemort's fury. "Agh."

"Here, drink this," Madame Pomfrey instructed as she steadied his head with a gentle hand and tipped a small cup to his lips.

He hesitated, wondering if the medicine would taste foul enough to set him off vomiting again. But amazingly enough, the liquid tasted like warm honey and mint, and he gratefully swallowed. Immediately, his twitching and lurching stomach settled down, and the pounding of war drums in his battered brain quieted to an almost gentle throbbing. Harry sighed and smiled a little as he closed his eyes and relaxed for the first time since he'd awoken.

"I also need you to drink this," Madame Pomfrey held another cup to his mouth. Harry could tell right away that it was the disgusting Bone Mend potion that he'd had to swallow way too many times in the past. He reflexively pressed his lips together, and heard the mediwitch tut above him.

"Now, Potter, don't make me force you," she threatened. "The medicine I'd just given you was to settle your stomach and ease the pain of your concussion. You'll be able to stomach this just fine now."

When Harry still didn't open his mouth, she switched tactics. "Well, I could always ask Professor Snape to hold your mouth open so I can pour the medicine in."

Harry's eyes snapped open to see that the Potions professor was standing at the foot of the bed with an evil glint in his eyes. "I don't know, Poppy; maybe Potter actually likes being coddled like a baby," he sneered, and Harry's mouth popped open faster than you could say "Quidditch". Professor Snape chuckled low in his throat as Madame Pomfrey obligingly poured the revolting potion into Harry's mouth.

Harry swallowed it all, not being strong enough to reflexively spit it out. He screwed up his face at the disgusting taste in his mouth, and Madame Pomfrey poured him a glass of water.

"Mr. Potter, I will leave you to rest for a bit, but I shall be checking on you on the hour, every hour."

Harry's eyebrows quirked questioningly.

"That way I can make sure you haven't slipped into a coma, young man," she chided reprovingly, and Harry managed the barest of nods in understanding. "Now, best if you got some rest." She smoothed the heavy sheets and carefully tucked them around Harry so that he wouldn't get cold, considering he was only clad in his underwear; what with all the bandages and immobilizing splints that covered the entire left side of his body.

Harry obliged all too willingly, and felt sleep wash over him.

**oOo**

The adults continued back to Madame Pomfrey's office in the pre-dawn glow illuminating the Infirmary.

"No one's told me what had happened to Gwendolyn's escort to the school," the mediwitch inquired the Professors.

Harry's ears perked at the quiet conversation, and he was immediately wide-awake.

"They were killed," Professor Snape replied darkly.

"All five of them?"

"I'm afraid so," Professor McGonagall replied sadly. "Those poor, brave souls. They were all friends of the MacCollum's, and had risked everything to save Gwendolyn and her baby."

"So, her husband and the child?"

"Dead," Professor Snape growled. "They killed Eadoin when they took Gwendolyn, and kept the child as a hostage to ensure she wouldn't attempt escape."

"But… he was only a baby," Madame Pomfrey almost whispered.

"Born only a few weeks before they were kidnapped," the Potions Master replied grimly.

"But what prompted them to kill him?"

"Lord Voldemort was coming, and somehow the MacCollum's friends managed to find out," Professor McGonagall said, and Harry sucked in a shaky breath at that. "When they attempted to rescue Gwendolyn and Ash, one of the Death Eaters panicked and killed the baby."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. _'Ash must've been the baby's name,'_ he thought sadly. _'What the hell would Voldemort want with those people?'_

"If only they had contacted us earlier, we could have sent help," Professor Snape still sounded furious. "But instead they had to play the heroes…"

"That's not fair, Severus," Professor McGonagall retorted gently . "They had no secure way of contacting us. Only one of them knew about the special assistance they could have gotten, but she was killed the night that Gwendolyn and the baby were kidnapped."

Professor Snape didn't reply to that, but instead chose to change the subject slightly. "Once her fever has broken, we need to find Gwendolyn more… secure quarters. Since she has never had any formal training…"

"Albus has spoken to the other teachers, and has informed them that in a few weeks they shall have an exchange student coming to the school," Professor McGonagall explained.

"Do you really think they won't be curious as to why a 22 year old woman is just now going to school?" Madame Pomfrey said.

"It has been explained that she is from another country, where the… standards… are a little more lax than ours," Professor McGonagall said.

"Ah, yes, prey upon the prejudices of foreigners," the Potions Master remarked snidely.

Harry's eyes began to drift shut as his body strongly asserted its need to rest. His mind swirling with questions, he drifted off into a light and uneasy slumber.

oOo

French:

"Gwendolyn, se calme! Vous êtes sûr ici. Vous êtes sûr!" - "Gwendolyn, calm down! You're safe here. You're safe!"

"Part de lui, vous la chienne!" - "Get away from him, you bitch!"


	7. Out With The Old

Madame Pomfrey was as good as her word; she'd woken Harry up every hour on the hour to check on him and then give him some more medicine. Dumbledore came to see Harry before breakfast, and the two talked quietly for almost 15 minutes. Harry recounted his and Ron's encounter with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, and spoke his concern about how Malfoy and his mother had found the Headquarters for the Order.

Dumbledore smiled kindly and shook his head. "Don't worry, Harry. Kreacher is not the Secret-Keeper for the Order, so he isn't able to tell anyone about the Order's whereabouts. Narcissa remembered the general location of the house from the times she'd visited when she was a child. There is no way she or Draco can find their way inside, and Kreacher has been forbidden to return, as you may remember."

Harry nodded… or at least, he tried to. A searing pain shot through his head when he tried to move it, and he squeezed his eyes shut in response. The Headmaster patted Harry's undamaged right hand, and said, "Now, my boy, is there anything else you need to tell me before Poppy chases me out of here?"

But before Harry could reply, the mediwitch came as if she were summoned and herded the chuckling Headmaster out of the ward, insisting that her patient urgently needed his rest if he were to recover.

It wasn't until much later that day that she allowed visitors.

Well, it wasn't like she'd had much of a choice.

Harry woke up to hear raised voices arguing. It seemed that Professor McGonagall was sick and tired of fielding the anxious inquiries from all of Harry's friends, so she finally marched Ron and Hermione down to the infirmary and practically ordered Madame Pomfrey to allow them to see how Harry was doing for themselves.

After much sputtering and objecting, the mediwitch finally allowed Harry's friends a brief moment to visit.

"But heaven help you if you go and wake him!" she quietly scolded. Ron and Hermione both nodded as the curtains were pulled all the way back to the wall to allow for some sunshine.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed happily at seeing his best friend blearily open his eyes. "Bloody hell, it's good to see you, mate! We've all been worried sick!" He quickly stepped to Harry's right side and patted his arm.

Harry blinked. His vision was still a bit hazy, even with his glasses on, and he blinked and squinted a little in an attempt to get his friend's faces into better focus.

"How are you, Harry?" Hermione came up to Harry's left side a bit more calmly.

"Better than this morning," he replied wryly. "But I'm bloody tired. Madame Pomfrey's been waking me up almost every hour to make sure I haven't died."

Both Ron and Hermione snorted.

"Well, that's standard procedure when dealing with a severe concussion," Hermione replied. "You've been unconscious for three days! Be glad that she was able to give you some topical medicine so that your brain didn't swell too much. A fall like that should've killed you instantly, you know."

Harry swallowed hard. "I knew it was bad when I woke up this morning, but…"

"Way to go, 'Mione," Ron chastised. "As if Harry didn't feel bad enough!"

She huffed a little and glared at her friend. "I'm only telling Harry the truth, Ron."

"Don't you think it would've been a better idea to tell him _after_ he's back on his feet?"

"Okay, guys, thanks for coming. May I go back to sleep now?" Harry commented plaintively. As much as he loved the two, Ron and Hermione's bickering had the tendency to give him a headache on the best of days. Now, it was making his head throb agonizingly, and wasn't helping his still-unsettled stomach.

Ron and Hermione immediately quieted and looked chagrined. "Sorry, mate," and "Sorry, Harry," they chorused.

"You really want us to go?" Ron continued.

"No," Harry said. "I was wondering if you'd seen who knocked me off my broom, Ron?"

The flame-haired teen shook his head. "Nope. They must've been hiding in the stands, since there was no one on the field except us. But of course we know who it was," he finished scathingly.

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically. "Ron! You have no proof!"

He shot back, "I don't need proof, 'Mione! I told you that night: we ran across Malfoy and the gruesome twosome right before practice. Malfoy practically threatened Harry's life! If us kicking their arses isn't enough of a reason…"

"So no one actually saw Malfoy?" Harry interrupted quietly as he lightly pressed his fingers to his temples. All of his broken bones had finally mended, but his left side was still extremely sore, and underneath the bandages on his head was a bare spot where the hair and most of his scalp had been ripped away from the impact with the ground. Unfortunately, Madame Pomfrey had said it would take a few days for the hair to grow back to its usual messy state.

"Sorry, Harry. We were too worried about you," Ron said softly.

Harry slowly turned his head to look at the bed where the woman was the night before. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Hermione looked over her shoulder and then back at her friend. "Harry, what's the matter?"

"There was a woman there this morning," he replied. "Where'd she go?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other in consternation. "What woman, Harry?" Ron said. "There's no one else in here."

Harry looked around the room, confirming that his friend was correct, before relaxing back onto his pillow. "Her fever must have broken then," he murmured. "I heard Madame Pomfrey telling the others that Gwendolyn would have to be moved after her fever broke."

"What others?" Hermione asked.

"Snape and Professor McGonagall." Harry's eyes drooped a little, and he blinked. He was feeling really tired again.

"I don't know what to tell you mate," Ron began, and then his brow furrowed. "Wait a minute. 'Gwendolyn'?"

A small smile ghosted across Harry's face. "Yeah, that's her name. And yes, Ron, I think she's the witch we saw crash on the front lawn the beginning of term."

"Hmmm," Hermione's eyes narrowed as she thought. "Don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence that Harry felt Voldemort's," she paused a moment to glare at Ron's hissing intake of breath, "anger the same night that this woman came to Hogwarts?"

"No matter how many times you say it, I'm never going to get used to you saying _his_ name," Ron shot back.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "But what would he want with her?"

Harry frowned in thought. "Whatever it was, it was important enough to kidnap her and kill her family," he replied darkly.

Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry in astonishment.

Ron was the first one to recover. "Maybe… maybe he's trying to recruit witches and wizards to his army," he thought aloud. "And he's killing those who are opposing him. Like he did 15 years ago."

Hermione nodded. "Makes sense. But how on earth did she get away from him?"

Unnoticed, Harry slipped back into sleep, exhausted and still quite dizzy. Ron and Hermione discussed the situation for a couple more minutes before they noticed, and then they retreated from the bed to let their friend rest.

Four days later, Harry was finally released from Madame Pomfrey's care. It was around dinnertime, so he slowly walked to the Great Hall. His head was still feeling a bit tender, and the mediwitch had placed him on restricted activities for the next week. That included no Occlumency lessons or Quidditch until she was absolutely certain that he was completely healed.

Harry entered the Great Hall and made his way to the Gryffindor table. People from all the House tables noticed his quiet entrance, and the usual loud dinnertime chatter turned into murmurs and concerned whispers as he passed by them.

"Oh Harry, Professor McGonagall told us you were to be released today!" Ginny exclaimed as she shoved some of the other Gryffindors aside to make way for her friend. He smiled his thanks wanly, and quietly sat down between her and Ron. Hermione grinned at him from across the table, and Neville beside her gave him a welcoming nod.

"Hey, Harry," Neville greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks," Harry replied. "Though Madame Pomfrey said I couldn't play Quidditch for at least another week or two." With that last wry statement he was looking at Angelina Johnson a few spaces down the table, and she grimaced a little.

"Well, Harry, I'd much rather have you on health restriction right now than in the ground," she replied warmly with a crooked smile, and Harry returned the grin.

Harry fielded a few more questions and small talk from his house mates before eventually everyone got back to their earlier discussions about classes, homework, and the various and sundry school gossip. Harry served himself a small helping of shepherd's pie, as he was still unused to eating a lot of food.

"Harry, I wish you could've seen Snape while you were in the Infirmary; he was totally lost on who to pick on without you there," Seamus murmured from around Ron, and Harry snorted. "But he got over it pretty quick, and has been absolutely nasty to poor Neville."

Neville raised his head at the mention of his name, and shrugged. "If picking on students is all that old bat has to do with his time, then he's truly a sad man," he said, and Hermione looked at him incredulously.

Ron chuckled. "You said it, my friend."

"Neville, that's not very kind," Hermione chastised, but her classmate only shrugged.

"Neither is he, Hermione," he replied, and she was forced to nod reluctant agreement.

"Harry, Professor McGonagall asked me to give you this," Hermione then handed over an envelope with his name written on it. "What with all the classes you missed, she asked the teachers if they could give you special assignments to make up the work. Especially since we have our N.E.W.T.s next year."

Ron shook his head in disgust. "I'm not even going to argue with you about why you think we should start studying for them a year early," he said wryly.

Harry opened the envelope and read the list before he groaned and clutched his head with his free hand.

"Harry?" Ron asked, looking concerned.

Harry dropped the letter on to the table as he grimaced. "I get to spend the next 3 Saturdays with the teachers in 'special' make-up classes. Might as well be detention," he grumbled.

"It can't be all that bad, can it?" Hermione asked.

Harry handed the letter over to his friend. "You tell me," he said.

She scanned the paper and grimaced as well. "Ew. Forget I said anything," she muttered as she returned the letter to him. "Actually, Harry, I'd be more than happy to help you out. Maybe I can say something to Professor McGonagall about tutoring you. Then we might get you out of some of these make-up sessions."

But Harry shook his head. "Thanks anyway, 'Mione. I doubt Snape'd let even you tutor me in Potions."

Ron looked up from reading the paper over Harry's shoulder. "He's got you there," he commented wryly, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at him.

**oOo**

Two weeks passed, and Harry worked his way back into the swing of things. With Hermione and Ron's help, he did indeed manage to avoid having to spend all of his Saturdays inside with his teachers, which was quite a relief for all involved.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were making their way to Potions when they came across a stranger standing frozen in the middle of the entrance to the dungeons.

Harry blinked. It couldn't be. Could it? He glanced at his friends, who were curiously looking at the woman. She had long, wavy brownish-black hair that fell freely almost to her waistline. She was wearing a dark green knitted duster with a hood over an oversized gray V-neck T-shirt, faded blue jeans torn at the knee, and scuffed black leather biker boots. She was shaking violently, horror-filled wide sapphire eyes flecked with gray staring unseeingly down the stairs to the dungeons. Hanging forgotten from one of the large belt loops to her jeans was a black walking cane with a silver handle, styled to look like a griffin with its wings outstretched.

Harry's memory was a bit fuzzy, but he could've sworn that this was the same woman that he'd seen in the Infirmary the night he'd been knocked from his broom at Quidditch practice.

She mumbled to herself under her breath, her pale face crawling with barely contained panic and horror. There was a beat-up leather satchel slung over her shoulder, with something bulky… _moving_ around inside.

Harry reached out a hand gingerly, wanting to break the woman out of her frozen panic and calm her down, but at that moment Malfoy and his Slytherin classmates jostled into him and the others. Harry was shoved to one side of the corridor, and Ron and Hermione were accidentally thrust into the woman on the other side.

Ron tried not to bump into the stranger, but he tripped over his own feet and crashed into her shoulder, knocking her backwards. The woman hissed in pain as her back smacked into the wall, and her already pale face whitened even more as she squeezed her eyes shut and cursed under her breath.

Malfoy stopped at hearing the muttered imprecations and looked at the woman assessingly. "You might wish to watch where you stand around here," he commented blandly. "Getting in the way of the wrong people can be quite dangerous."

Harry felt his temper flare. "Shut up, Malfoy."

The Slytherin turned his head to smirk at his nemesis out of the corner of his eye. "Ooo, ickle Potty, defending your new girlfriend? 'Course, it'd be _you_ who'd pick one of the damaged ones," the blond sneered.

Unnoticed, the panic momentarily left the woman's eyes and was replaced with cold, hard, calculating anger.

Harry's hands clenched into white fists, and he took a step towards his nemesis, pulling back his right arm. Malfoy's eyes widened a little, and he grinned in anticipation.

But a deep voice cut through their mutual antagonism like an oily knife.

"What is going on here?" Professor Snape barked as he whisked in between Harry and Malfoy's murderous glares. "There are severe penalties for brawling on school grounds, gentlemen. Everyone… get to class!"

Disappointed muttering wafted through the hall as the Slytherins and Gryffindors continued down the stairs to the Potions classroom. Harry turned instead towards the woman, who was now huddled against the corridor wall, hugging herself and staring down the passageway with unfocused and terrified eyes. Ron and Hermione joined Harry a few steps down from him and the woman, looking concerned.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked her softly, but she didn't seem to hear him.

"Potter!" Professor Snape snarled. "Have you suddenly become deaf, or would you like points deducted…" But his voice trailed off as he came flush with the small group surrounding the obviously panicked woman. "Mademoiselle MacCollum, va-t-tout très bien?"

Harry turned a shocked gaze to the Potions professor as he backed away towards Hermione and Ron. He'd never heard the man address another with such a… gentle tone of voice before.

"Je peux't descend là-bas. I - I can't go down there," the young woman whispered, her voice shaking almost as hard as she was.

"You can't… or you won't?" Snape inquired softly.

She tore petrified blue-gray eyes away from the stairs to stare at him. "I… I can't." Her eyes implored him to not make her go into the dungeons.

Snape hesitated as he thought, and then he nodded. "All right. Come to my office after dinner tonight. We'll work out some sort of arrangement then. For now, I'd suggest that you go someplace quiet to calm down until your next class, hmmm?"

A thankful, timid smile broke out on her weary face. "Merci."

An answering smile ghosted across his face before he shook himself and returned to his standard sour expression. "Go. I have a class to teach." He waved her away and turned to go down the stairs, suddenly noticing Harry and his friends lingering. "Is there somewhere you'd rather be, Potter?" he growled. "Five points each from Gryffindor for your tardiness."

Harry glared at the Professor, briskly turned on his heel, and stalked with his friends down to the classroom with Snape following closely behind.

**oOo**

That evening, the three friends discussed what had happened before Potions.

"You know, I haven't seen her eating in the Great Hall," Hermione pointed out.

"Maybe she eats in her room like Professor Trelawny," Ron speculated. "What I don't get is why a grown-up is coming here like she's never been to school. Wouldn't she be with the first years then?"

"Maybe she's more advanced because she's from another country," Harry quietly pointed out.

Ron and Hermione tilted their heads questioningly.

"How do you think that, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I think she's the same woman I saw in the Infirmary a few weeks back. I reckon she's… an American," Harry explained. "Or from Canada, since she spoke French."

"Maybe she _is_ French," Hermione pointed out, but then frowned and shook her head. "No, the accent's too light. She'd sound more like Fleur Delacour then."

"But what would a Yank be doing here?" Ron wondered aloud.

Harry shrugged as he idly pushed his dinner around his plate. For some reason he didn't feel like sharing all that he'd heard of the adult's conversation in the Infirmary with his friends.

"Maybe she's an exchange student," Hermione replied. "Who knows what the schools are like in North America?"

Just then, a few owls came swooping into the Hall, and dropped letters in front of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna over at the Ravenclaw table. The six teens exchanged worried looks across the tables as they realized the letters must be the summons to the trial at the Wizengamut.

The others didn't look as if they were going to open theirs, so with a great sigh Hermione slid her finger under the Ministry's seal and opened hers. She slid out the creamy parchment and read aloud for the others as they crowded around her.

"'The Wizengamut formally requests your presence at the Ministry of Magic's Courtroom Number 5 this Friday the 13th of October, at 8:30am, for your testimony regarding the events that transpired on the 12th of June this year.' That's this coming Friday."

"They don't give us much time to get ready for this, do they?" Neville asked thoughtfully, and Luna smiled a little.

"What would we have to prepare for?" she replied dreamily. "We all know what happened. We just have to tell the truth."

"I wonder if that means we'll be getting out of our classes for the whole day," Ginny murmured.

"Snape'll have a conniption fit over this," Ron replied, looking as if he'd swallowed a fly.

Harry just looked up at the Head Table and met Dumbledore's solemn gaze. The Headmaster nodded ever so briefly, and Harry returned the gesture. Whatever happened, Harry knew that his mentor would be there by his and his friend's side for support and guidance.

What particularly worried Harry was whether or not Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe would be there as well, to see their fathers convicted and their wands broken. No matter how much he despised the blond Slytherin and his sidekicks, deep down Harry wouldn't wish that kind of disgrace on anyone. He knew what it was like having his father taken from him.

oOo

French:

"Mademoiselle MacCollum, va-t-tout très bien?" - Miss MacCollum, is everything all right?


	8. In With The New

The next day started off with a Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Since Gryffindors and Slytherins still shared this class, Harry and the others weren't overly thrilled about getting there and having to deal with more of Malfoy's taunts and threats.

As they came around the side of Hagrid's house, they noticed that Gwendolyn was there as well, quietly standing off to the side a good two yards from the nearest student. She still had that battered satchel slung over her shoulder, and it definitely looked like there were no books inside.

Hagrid came around his house with a huge grin on his face. "I got a real treat for yeh today!" he beamed. "Come on, come on, yeh'll jus' love this!" He beckoned the students to follow him around to his garden.

And there was Fawkes, calmly sitting on the back of a giant wooden garden chair.

"How many a yeh know what ta feed a phoenix?"

Even Hermione was stumped.

Then Gwendolyn hesitantly raised her hand.

Hagrid noticed and softly (for him) called to her. "Yeah, come on 'round now so I can see'n hear yeh."

Gwendolyn limped around the edge of the crowd of teenagers and stopped a few feet from Fawkes and Hagrid. "Go on," the half-giant urged kindly.

She leaned a little on the ornate cane she was carrying. "Um, well… native to India, Egypt and China, phoenixes are like other herbivorous birds when it comes to food; unlike popular myth, they are not predators and are actually quite peaceable." Gwendolyn's eyes were slightly unfocused, as if she were reading from a mental book.

Harry and Ron exchanged incredulous looks. For a woman who seemed disinclined to ever speak, once she got going, she was worse than Hermione!

"They can appear and disappear at will, and phoenix tears are known to have uncharted healing powers. The phoenix's song 'is reputed to increase the courage of the pure of heart and to strike fear into the hearts of the impure'. The phoenix is also one of the only creatures known to man that is essentially immortal, but only because of their time of Burning. When a phoenix is ready to die, as it were, it loses all its feathers, basically resembles a half-plucked turkey and makes retching noises until it finally bursts into flame and is consumed. Within moments, it rises from its own ashes as an infant, and quickly grows into a mature adult within days. But since they are extremely rare and are almost impossible to domesticate, the phoenix must be very careful when it roams about, as there is quite a high price paid for its tail feathers, organs and… other things on the black market." Gwendolyn hesitated as Fawkes drew his head back with a reproachful trill.

The phoenix then chirruped more sedately, and the woman blinked her eyes back into focus before stepping up to him with a genuinely affectionate smile. She bowed a little with a wince of pain. "Bonjour, je suis Gwendolyn. Quel est votre nom?"

He cooed a little at her, and Gwendolyn slowly reached out an open hand and tickled him under the chin. "Une honneur vous rencontrer, Fawkes." The phoenixes' eyes closed in pleasure, and the students murmured to each other. "Unfortunately, it's true," she quietly continued in English to Hagrid, her gaze never leaving the beautiful red and gold creature in front of her. "Which is why Fawkes is most likely only allowed to stretch his wings on school grounds and in this forest. I've been told that no man in his right mind would dare go in there alone, as it's filled with many dangerous creatures. Is that right, Fawkes?" she smiled tentatively at the magnificent bird, which lowered his head in agreement before nudging her hand for some more attention.

"Tha's righ'!" Hagrid beamed. "Phoenixes're also very smar', and they're fiercely loyal ta whoever they trus' and respec'. Twenty points ta… Wha' house yeh belong ta then?"

She froze, blinking, and Fawkes butted her outstretched fingers with his head. "I… I don't."

"Wha'? Belong ta a house?"

She shook her head, looking puzzled.

"But yeh did put on the Sortin' Hat?" he asked.

She nodded. After a few moments of tense silence, she quietly admitted, "It didn't know where I should go."

The other students broke out in confused chatter, and Gwendolyn suddenly remembered that there were other people about. She blushed furiously, and quickly retreated away from the others to a corner of the house.

Hagrid blinked, and then stated, "Well, then, twenty points ta ya, Miz MacCollum."

The class continued with Hagrid explaining the history of the phoenix, more about its eating habits and how it's cared for, as well as the reasons for why they were so rare. When the class ended, Harry and his friends turned and noticed that Gwendolyn had already halfway limped across the lawn to the castle proper before the other students had even begun to leave.

**oOo**

That afternoon was first with Professor McGonagall in Transfigurations.

"What is she doing, stalking us?" Ron grumbled under his breath at seeing Gwendolyn already seated in the rear of the room. "She's giving me a complex, that one."

"Oh, hush, Ron," Hermione chastised. "From what I can tell, she's just going to all the basic 6th year courses for now. She'll probably get a more detailed course schedule once the Sorting Hat figures out which House to put her in."

The classroom was already pretty much filled up, so Harry, Ron and Hermione moved to take the remaining group of seats beside Gwendolyn's by the windows.

Harry set his books down on the table beside the older woman, who warily glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Hullo, I'm Harry," he introduced himself quietly. "And this is Ron and Hermione. Is it alright if we sit here?"

She nervously nodded and rested one hand possessively on her satchel. Harry noted that she was also sitting on the front edge of her seat with her back held rigid.

The professor entered, quieting the class, and started the lesson. As she instructed the students on how to transfigure a badger into a small child, she passed by Harry's table and stopped in front of Gwendolyn with a disapproving gaze.

"Miss MacCollum, I thought you weren't supposed to be carrying her about this soon."

The others at the table furrowed their brows in confusion, but kept their eyes on their animals.

Gwendolyn dipped her head a little. "Begging your pardon, but it's better if she stays with me at all times."

Just then, the large flat head of a shorthaired black and white tuxedo cat popped out of the satchel, its bright yellow-green eyes sharply assessing first Harry, Ron, and then Hermione before swinging to the Professor.

"Young lady, she is not fully healed…"

"Neither am I, Professor," was the murmured reply.

McGonagall locked gazes with Gwendolyn for a moment, and then she tersely nodded. "Very well then. But she is to stay where she is and _rest_," she bent over to gaze directly into the huge cat's eyes, "Is that understood?"

The cat purred throatily as Gwendolyn nodded.

"And since you have not had a chance to buy a wand yet, I shall assign you a tutor you can work with."

Gwendolyn's eyes widened in alarm. "Non, um… no thank you Professor. I'm sure I can keep up just fine without bothering anyone else."

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned. "Unless you have perfect recall, Miss MacCollum, then I highly doubt that…"

"Actually, I do have a photographic memory," Gwendolyn quietly interrupted, her eyes cast down at her clenched hands.

"Ah." The professor had the grace to actually blush ever so slightly. "I'd forgotten about that."

The young brunette allowed herself a small ironic smile. "Believe me Madame, these days I wish I could forget things, too."

Harry's head twisted around to sharply glance at the woman beside him. That comment sounded a little too close to one he'd made to Dumbledore in one of his Occlumency lessons not that long ago.

"Nevertheless, Miss MacCollum, until we can arrange for you to get the necessary supplies, I shall be assigning you a tutor. Come to me after class, and I shall have a name for you then."

"Oui, Madame," came the subdued reply as Gwendolyn absently scratched the huge head of her feline companion.

**oOo**

At supper, Harry and the others discussed what went on that day.

"She didn't even have a wand," Ron grumped. "How come she didn't have to do anything other than just sit there and watch?"

"She most likely lost her wand, or it was broken," Hermione suggested matter-of-factly.

"You didn't ask her yet?" Harry asked softly. Ron shot Hermione a sharp look as she shook her head.

"What, _you're_ her tutor?" Ron blurted out. At yet another scathing glare from the frizzy-haired young woman beside him, he shrugged and continued. "Well, of _course_ you'd be the one, but why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"Because Professor McGonagall asked me to keep it quiet," Hermione replied with a roll of her eyes. "Gwendolyn's very… reserved, and from what I could tell, she wasn't too keen on studying with other students. She really argued with the Professor about me taking her on."

"I wonder when she's going to Diagon Alley to get her things," Harry speculated aloud.

"Bet she won't even have to take tests," Ron muttered under his breath. "And did you see the size of that cat?" he continued, ignoring Hermione's quelling glare, his eyes wide. "That thing has to be at least twice as big as Crookshanks!"

"I'd say she's bigger than most small dogs," Harry replied thoughtfully.

"The cat's not fully healed yet; that's what McGonagall said," Hermione put in. "And neither is Gwendolyn. Now, we saw them crash onto the grounds when the term first started. What kinds of injuries could they sustain that would take this long to heal?"

Harry's face firmed. "Magical injuries."

"What?" Ron and Hermione blurted simultaneously, and then Hermione continued. "Well, I can see how you'd come to that conclusion…"

"When I was knocked off my broom at Quidditch practice," Harry nodded at Ron, "I woke up before dawn. Someone was screaming. It was her, Gwendolyn. She was having some sort of nightmare, but from what I could see, she was in pretty bad shape still. And she was in the Hospital Wing for almost a month by then. Not only that," his voice lowered, and his friends leaned in to hear him better. "But Snape and Professor McGonagall mentioned Voldemort."

"What!" Again, Ron and Hermione spoke at the same time.

Harry nodded grimly. "Somehow, Voldemort was involved in how she'd gotten hurt. And I think he killed her family and friends, too. At least, that's what it sounded like."

"Harry," Hermione looked worried. "Do you think you might have misunderstood? I mean, you'd just fallen like 35 meters the day before, and you had a rather nasty knock on your head too. Not to mention all the bones you'd broken…"

"I know what I heard, Hermione," Harry replied firmly. "And I distinctly heard Voldemort mentioned. As well as everyone Gwendolyn knew being killed."

"But that would mean that…"

Harry nodded, his expression unreadable. "Voldemort tried to kill her too, and failed."

"But Harry," Ron broke in. "You're the only one who ever survived an attack from… from him. How could she have survived him too?"

Harry looked grim. "I don't know. But I aim to find out."

**oOo**

That night, Harry once again had Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore.

He came into the office to find the Headmaster sitting in his comfy chair by the fireplace.

"Come in, Harry," Dumbledore waved him in. "Sit, sit. We have some things to discuss."

Harry strode over to the chair opposite Dumbledore and sat down.

"I'm sure you've noticed that our guest has started taking classes with you and your peers," Dumbledore began, and Harry nodded. "There are some things that I cannot tell you, as it is not my place to share them, but I can tell you this…" He paused for a moment, looking as if he were gathering his thoughts, and then continued. "Gwendolyn LeCavalier was raised as a Muggle orphan in Nova Scotia, Canada, and met her husband in nearby Montreal when he was visiting family there. They married, and moved to Eadoin's native Scotland to start their family. About two months ago, Death Eaters attacked the MacCollum's home, killed Eadoin and his niece, then took Gwendolyn and their infant boy."

Harry nodded dourly. "Ash, right?"

Dumbledore smiled a little. "Ah, so you _did_ hear some of that conversation. Yes, his name was Asheron. The Death Eaters kept him as a hostage so that Gwendolyn wouldn't attempt escape, and then they tortured her. I'm unsure as to why they did this, and she is understandably reluctant to discuss the matter."

Harry's expression hardened as he visualized what was most likely done to the young woman. "And she has no idea why they did all this?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Alas, she does not."

"How do you know about her husband's going to Canada, Professor?"

The headmaster's eyes grew sad. "Eadoin was a graduate of Hogwart's, Harry, and a close friend of Severus Snape."

Harry's eyes widened. "Snape!"

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected. "Some of the MacCollum's friends managed to find out where Gwendolyn and her child were being held, and attempted a rescue. Unfortunately, they did this the very night that Voldemort and his escort arrived, and most of them were killed in their attempt. Three of them managed to fly Gwendolyn away, but they were all shot down by spells. The interesting thing is, the young lady managed to take one of the brooms and fly the rest of the way to the school." Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"But didn't you say she was raised as a Muggle?" Harry asked, and the headmaster nodded.

"Indeed she was, Harry. Which is why I find it fascinating that she was able to fly the broom as well as she did."

"So, that means she's a witch?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, and somehow she'd managed to fall through the cracks, and was never trained." He paused for a moment before continuing in a murmur, "Despite what many may think, there are quite a few excellent wizarding schools in North America."

"Which is why you're having her take classes now?"

"Yes. Her husband did manage to teach her somewhat on the sly, and with her exceptional memory, she learns at an advanced rate. She might as well continue to learn the way of the Craft while she recovers. Which also gives her something to focus on other than the death of her family and friends."

Harry's face darkened, and Dumbledore spoke gently to him. "Yes, Harry, the resemblance to your past is striking, but I must ask that you keep your distance from young Gwendolyn for now."

Harry looked up, startled. "Why?"

Dumbledore's kind face shone from the light of the fire. "She's very confused and angry, and not all of her injuries are physical. She doesn't know whom to trust right now, and needs the time and space to find herself again. Do you understand, Harry?"

Harry hesitated, and then nodded. "I… think so."

"Good. Now, since you have been coming along so well with your Occlumency, I suggest we leave off the lesson tonight and you go back to your dormitory to practice, hmmm?"


	9. Of Nightmares And Baths

Even though it was only the middle of October, the temperamental weather took a typical turn for the worse. One night Harry suddenly awoke, covered in sweat and choking back the scream that was howling up from his gut. He sat there, shaking in reaction to the nightmare and wondering what the hell had brought that on. He remained still for a few minutes, willing his heart to stop hammering in his throat and return to its proper place in his chest.

_'Looks like I didn't wake anyone this time,'_ Harry thought with relief as he listened to the sounds of his friends' deep breathing. The nightmares were thankfully rare now, but it still didn't keep him from feeling embarrassed. He was mortally sick and tired of his housemates' sympathetic looks, as well as Ron and Hermione's almost constant urges for him to 'talk to **any**one about this.' _'And who the hell would I talk to?'_ he mentally growled as he swung lanky legs over the side of his bed. _'Who would understand?'_ Harry suddenly remembered the mirror Dumbledore had fixed and returned to him for his birthday, that was now ensconced in Harry's side table, and was tempted for a moment to speak with the Headmaster about his nightmare.

"No," he whispered. "I'm not a little kid any more, who goes running to someone every time the bogeyman pays a visit." Granted, Harry's bogeyman was quite the humdinger of them all; well, at least compared to other people his age. But he could tell that whatever nightmares he might be having recently weren't from Voldemort, as his sessions with Dumbledore seemed to really have done the trick in teaching him to block any attempts by the Dark Lord to invade his mind.

_'Either that, or the bastard's been concentrating on something else lately.'_

Emerald eyes widened a little. Where did _that_ thought come from?

Harry felt icky with his pajamas clammily sticking to his body, so he decided that maybe a late-night bath would help him relax and feel better. He slid out of bed, grabbed his bathing items, a towel and a fresh pair of pajamas, and softly padded downstairs to the Gryffindor common room. Harry just didn't feel like washing up in the tower and risking running across one of his mates headed for the loo, and instead headed out of the portrait hole to the prefect's wash room that he'd frequented occasionally since his 4th year.

That thought brought up particularly disturbing images from his nightmare.

_"Someone's coming," Harry said suddenly._

"Kill the spare."

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

"DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

"No one's going to die," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

Harry shook his head violently to dispel the faint voices and jumbled memories and continued on his way. After a little while, he came to the entrance to the little-used prefect's bathroom, and murmured the password to open the door.

"Pine fresh."

The room was dimly lit, and full of thick hot steam. Harry absently puzzled over this, but he stepped inside anyway. More than likely Moaning Myrtle was having a bit of a pout in there, and had been messing around with the spigots again.

Something was in Harry's way, and he tripped over the soft and furry obstacle, which proceeded to hiss angrily. _'Oh, shit, Mrs. Norris,'_ he mentally wailed as he stumbled, trying to keep from falling on his face.

Harry felt something zip past his face and crack into the wall, and his head whipped up to spy the kneeling figure of a woman beside the pool, barely wrapped in a towel and pointing what looked like a small knife at him through the thick mist in the bathing room. Harry finally lost his precarious hold on gravity, and his bathing things flew everywhere as he ungracefully fell on his face.

"Who's there!" the woman shouted as she aimed the tiny blade.

"H-Harry. Harry Potter!" Harry called out, his hands stinging from being used to keep his head from hitting the tiled floor. His glasses were all steamed up now, and he could barely make out the woman's figure as she carefully stood and moved closer to him. Her cat crouched on the tiled floor nearby, huge eyes narrowed, tail puffed and all of her impressive claws out.

"Potter?" Gwendolyn sounded shocked. "You're Harry Potter!" She fell more than knelt down on the floor a few meters from him, her face white and the throwing knives in her fingers clattering to the tile beside her. "But… you're just a kid!"

"How old did you think I was?" Harry shot back angrily. "Fifty?"

She nodded, dumbstruck, her wet wavy hair sliding around her shoulders to drape across her chest. "Something like that."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"

She grabbed the oversized green towel as it began falling off of her and arranged it in a more decorous fashion around her otherwise half-starved and naked body. Harry noticed with a sinking stomach that she had livid, fresh scars running across her arms and shoulders. Her breath hitched a little in her chest before she could answer. "They did. Sort of."

"'They'?" Harry was puzzled for a moment, before the thought hit him. Death Eaters. That's who she was talking about. "You mean the Death Eaters."

She shuddered, her eyes squeezing shut in reflexive reaction. "They never said how old you were, just that…" she murmured.

"What?"

"You were either the luckiest bastard alive, or the most powerful wizard around other than… Him." Deep sapphire eyes opened as she fixed Harry with a haunted look. "I figured you must have been either very old or in your prime. No offense."

Harry's anger melted away, and he smiled. "None taken."

"What are you doing here?"

Harry dropped his gaze, embarrassed. "Had a nightmare," he admitted quietly. "Felt a bath would relax me." He glanced over at Gwendolyn's cat, which seemed to have calmed at her human's demeanor, and slowly hoisted himself up to a sitting position.

Gwendolyn tilted her head to the side. "I was told that each of these Houses had their own bathing areas," she said suspiciously.

Harry nodded. "Yes, but I just didn't feel like… being around anyone right now."

The corner of Gwendolyn's mouth twitched upwards. "I know how that feels."

"May I ask you a question?" Harry ventured, and the woman hesitated a moment before nodding. "Where are you staying, since you've not been placed in any of the Houses?"

"I'm… not supposed to tell anyone," she replied. "It's supposed to be a secret. They said only one other person has stayed there."

"'They?'" Harry blinked.

Gwendolyn dipped her head. "The headmaster and some of the professors."

Questions tumbled through Harry's tired mind, which must have shown on his face, as Gwendolyn's dark eyes twinkled a little. "Full of questions, are you?" Just as suddenly as it came, the light in her eyes dimmed. "I used to be curious," she murmured, ducking her head behind a curtain of wet hair. She knelt there a moment, and then shook her head a little. "I'm just finishing up here; if you don't mind waiting outside, I'll just get dressed and leave you to your bath."

Gwendolyn tried to stand up, but one of her knees gave out, and she cursed. "Merde!"

Harry rose and held out a hand. "Here, let me help you."

Gwendolyn looked up at him with a note of panicked suspicion in her eyes, which quickly faded as she saw his face. She chuckled. "You look silly with your glasses all steamed up."

Harry shrugged, his expression wry. "Happens when one's nearsighted."

Harry planted his feet and steadied Gwendolyn as they pulled her upright. She grabbed the edge of her towel as it slipped again, and she turned away with a grateful nod.

"Right, let me know when I can come back in," Harry said awkwardly, feeling heat rushing to his cheeks and ears, and Gwendolyn nodded again as she limped heavily back to the bathing pool.

But something caught Harry's gaze. What was visible of Gwendolyn's back was crisscrossed with livid and nasty scars, but what was more of a shock to Harry was the palm-sized tattoo peeking through the wet strands of hair on her right shoulder blade… of a black-hooded bone-white skull with an emerald snake entwined through its mouth and eye sockets, twisted into a circle and biting its own tail. There was also a lightning-bolt shaped scar running across it.

Before he could censure himself, he blurted, "Gwendolyn, that tattoo…"

She stopped, and swiveled her head around to look back at him. "Ah, that." She shrugged one shoulder with a little wince. "Got it when I was your age. I… like snakes."

"And the skull?" He couldn't keep the sharp tone from his voice.

She blinked, unsure as to why he seemed so upset over a simple tattoo. "Death always seems to be chasing me," she replied flatly.

Harry's eyes narrowed, but he bit his lip and nodded before leaving the young woman to get dressed.


	10. Trials and Tribulations

Harry woke early on Friday morning, slapping his alarm before it roused the others. He needn't have set it, as he was awake most of the night anyway wondering what would happen at the trial. He had this nasty feeling that it would be the perfect chance for someone to try to kill him, and his suspicions were strengthened when he and Ron came down to the Gryffindor common room to find Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore waiting for them.

"Potter, Weasley," Professor McGonagall greeted them in her quiet Scottish accent. "We'll wait here for the others to come down, then you shall meet Miss Lovegood in the Dining Hall and have a quick breakfast before you meet your escort in the Front Hall."

"Doubt I'd be able to eat anything right now," Ron muttered nervously, and Harry mutely agreed.

Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly at the young men. "I quite agree with you that this is a nerve-wracking experience, but I assure you that this day will be over before you know it."

_'Why am I not comforted?'_ Harry thought wearily.

Soon, three of the four other members of their little group unenthusiastically descended the stairs to join them. Ginny was murmuring something to Hermione, and Harry raised an eyebrow at them.

"Seems we have a nickname now," Hermione informed everyone with a shrug. "We're being called the Gryffindor Six."

"Someone's been watching too many old Muggle movies," Harry replied wryly, and his friend snorted.

"They didn't even get it right, since Luna is in Ravenclaw," Hermione said with a trace of asperity.

"Come now, children," Professor McGonagall spoke up, and she and Dumbledore led the small group through the castle to the Great Hall. Six places were already set with Luna waiting for the teens, and a simple breakfast of hot oatmeal, bacon and English muffins with preserves, coffee and juice appeared once they were all seated. The professors sat down at the other end of the table to allow the students to talk amongst themselves comfortably.

"So what do you think will happen today, Harry?" Neville asked as he poured himself some juice.

Harry's mood darkened even more, and he bit back the sarcastic response that leapt to his lips. "I suppose we'll each be asked to tell them what we saw happen," he finally managed to say.

"I wish you didn't have to do this," Ginny said quietly as she cast a sadly sympathetic look at her morose friend. "You shouldn't need to relive that day any more than you have."

Harry shrugged as he stared fixedly at the food he was pushing about his plate. "It's not like I don't remember it clearly," he murmured.

The others exchanged concerned glances over his bent head, and Ron sighed.

"I'd say it'd be a great day if no one tries to kill us," Luna spoke up dreamily, and Hermione glared at her. "Oh well, we'll find out soon enough, I suppose." And she turned back to her breakfast, tucking in as if she were merely heading off for a day of shopping.

"She's a dim bulb, that one," Ron muttered sotto voce, and Ginny couldn't help snorting into her oatmeal.

They quickly finished, with Harry being the only one unable to eat at all, and the professors escorted them to the front hall. There they met no less than 7 adults, some of whom Harry didn't recognize. Tonks was standing there, sticking out in her electric blue hair with yellow-spikes, black jeans and The Clash T-shirt. Kingsley Shacklebolt was beside the metamorphmagus, dressed simply in a white dress shirt, black slacks and his Auror's robes, holding what looked like a much smaller set of matching robes draped over his arm. Remus Lupin flashed a brief, weary smile at Harry before turning back to Tonks and supporting Kingsley in his plea for the tiny woman to please dress in her formal Auror's robes… just this once. Even Ron's dad was there, watching the argument between his three friends with amused detachment.

A man stood off to the side from the group of adults, bemusedly inspecting the carvings on the Hall doors, and Harry realized that it was Mr. Lovegood when Luna glided up to the man and placed her hand on his arm.

"Father, I thought you weren't going to cover the trial," she said softly.

"You're right, dear, I'm not," her father replied with a warm smile as he turned to her. "But I am going to be escorting you to the Ministry, if that's okay?"

Luna nodded, her attention straying to where she noticed Peeves hovering at the second floor landing, looking undecided on whether or not he wanted to lob the dungbombs in his arms on the assembled group.

She smiled absently at the poltergeist, and that seemed to decide him. The ghost irritably drifted off towards the trophy room, undoubtedly to create a horrible mess for Filch to go into conniptions about.

"Let me introduce everyone," Dumbledore began. "Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks, please just call her by her surname, if you could," he murmured in an aside to the assembled teens. "Also, Aurors Dominic Evanston and Trinidad Lozada; Arthur Weasley from the Ministry's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, Remus Lupin, and Charles Lovegood, renowned editor and owner of The Quibbler."

Each of the adults greeted the teens with a nod and murmured "Hello."

Dumbledore then introduced his students before informing them all that he would be joining them.

"Professor, do you think that is wise?" Trinidad Lozada spoke up. She was only an inch or two shorter than Ron, with warm brown eyes and straight chestnut hair falling to her collarbone.

"Wise or not, my dear, I am also a witness, and therefore need to be there in case my testimony is called for," Dumbledore replied quietly, and Trinidad acquiesced with a simple nod.

"Albus, the time," Professor McGonagall reminded him.

"Ah yes, we should be off," Dumbledore turned away from the doors and led the group to the entrance to his office. "Peanut Brittle," he said, and the gargoyle leapt to the side.

"Professor," Harry spoke up, and the Headmaster paused on the stairs. "Why are we going to your office? Are we Flooing to the Ministry?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Exactly, my boy. My fireplace has a very secure connection, and it's much quicker travel than flying." And with that, he led the group up.

They alternated grownups and teenagers going trough the fireplace, and Harry found himself at the beginning of the line between Kingsley and Tonks.

_'Less chance for Death Eaters to try and kill me,'_ Harry thought as he threw the powder down and clearly declared "The Ministry of Magic!"

Harry was never a big fan of traveling by Floo, as he had the tendency to either go awry from the intended destination or land in a disheveled heap. Fortunately, this time neither happened, and he quickly stepped out of the fireplace in the Ministry's lobby to make room for the next traveler.

He and his friends looked around once they were all there, and they quietly noticed that the remains of the statues that Voldemort and Dumbledore had destroyed in their battle over Harry were no longer there. Instead, there was a large multi-tiered fountain, with water pixies sparkling like tiny diamonds dancing through the streams of water. There were two brass plaques on it: one stating that all proceeds donated to the fountain would benefit St. Mungo's, and the other explaining that a new fountain was currently under construction.

Harry strode briskly past it without a second look, and followed Dumbledore to the guard's desk where they all registered their wands and received visitor's badges. As Harry took his and pocketed his wand, the guard nodded at him with a murmured "Good luck, Mr. Potter."

Harry returned the nod curtly and stepped aside so the others could finish checking in.

The group had to take two separate elevators to the courtrooms' floor, and Ron quietly asked Harry as they smoothly descended, "You okay, mate?"

"I will be when this is all over," Harry replied, and his best friend briefly rested a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Think he'll try anything?" Neville murmured on Harry's other side.

"No," the raven-haired teen replied, his eyes a little unfocused as he absently rubbed his scar with the heel of his hand. "He's concentrating on something else right now."

Before anyone could respond to that cryptic statement, the elevators arrived at their destination, and everyone piled out and proceeded to Courtroom Number 5.

Dumbledore slowed his steps to come even with Harry. "This will be a bit different than the last time you came in front of the Wizengamut," he spoke quietly to the teen.

Harry snorted. "I should hope so," he murmured, and the corner of Headmaster's mouth crooked in response.

"All potential witnesses will be seated up and to the side, and each one of us will be called as needed," Dumbledore continued. "And Harry, there shall be Aurors all along the walls. Also, each student going forth to give testimony will be accompanied by at least one Auror."

"What about Mr. Weasley and Mr. Lovegood?" Harry asked.

"All parents and guardians were given the opportunity to escort their children to the trial," Dumbledore explained. "But anyone who wasn't present here in June will have to wait outside of the courtroom."

And of course the first half of that simple statement reminded Harry of Sirius. The raven-haired teen's mouth pressed together tightly as his expression turned stony. He continued to walk, albeit a bit more stiffly now, his head ducked down to stare at his feet.

"Professor," Ron spoke up nervously from Harry's other side. "Will the Minister of Magic be here?"

Dumbledore sighed a little. "Considering the nature of this particular case, yes, Mr. Weasley, I believe he will be."

"Great," Harry mumbled darkly.

They arrived at the door to the courtroom, and Kingsley Shacklebolt knocked three times before opening it and stepping within to announce the group's arrival. He turned and waved the others in after a moment, and everyone filed in. The entire Wizengamut was present: fifty people dressed in their plum colored robes with a worked silver W emblazoned on the left side of the chest. They took up only about 1/3rd of the seats surrounding most of the room like risers in a football stadium, as there were no witnesses or press present for the trial.

_A/N: And I mean football as in what we Yanks call soccer as a nod to my European brethren._

Eleven chairs were lined side to side in two rows in the exact center of the room, chains hanging off the arms as if waiting for someone to bind. Harry knew that these particular chains would do exactly that; as he'd seen them tightly truss those with guilty consciences a few times before.

Minister Fudge was sitting quietly off to the right of the group of wizards and witches with his faithful assistant Percy Weasley at his side.

Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye that Ron was looking at his brother, but Percy seemed to be busy making copious notes as well as organizing and placing spells on a number of quills to automatically write down the various testimonies. Ron shook his head in disgust and looked to his father, who was watching his older son with a mixture of sadness, resolve and anger on his face.

The Auror Charles Evanston came up beside Ron and Harry, and silently indicated that the boys were to go up the stairs to the empty seating area beside the Wizengamut. Once there, all of the teenagers were staggered with Aurors surrounding and sitting beside them, although the greatest concentration of the protection was with Harry. That didn't keep Ron from sitting directly beside his best friend, however, and that simple act brightened Harry's spirits a little. Hermione and Tonks positioned themselves right behind the two best friends, murmuring their support.

"Don't worry, Harry," Charles spoke softly as he sat down beside the teen. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Harry looked over at the man. Charles Evanston was a robust man in his late-thirties with short, wavy dirty-blond hair and brown eyes, a kind face with chiseled features and a patrician nose. Overall, he looked friendly enough, but there was an obvious underlying hardness to the man instilled from his years as an Auror. Harry instinctively knew that Charles would be a dangerous man to cross.

"It's not me I'm worried about," Harry replied. "If Voldemort tried anything here, he'd go after my friends first."

Charles' reassuring smile faded a bit as he looked sharply at the young man beside him. "Hm. I'm almost hesitant to ask why you would think that."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then shut it after a moment. He didn't think it would be a good idea to explain how he had a direct mental connection to the Dark Lord, since the only members of the Order that knew about could be counted on one hand. And Harry didn't even know if Charles was a member of the Order or not.

But before anything else could be said, Amelia Bones stood and brought the room to order.

"This gathering of the Wizengamut is to hear the testimony against the accused, who shall be led forth and announced in a moment," the square-jawed witch began. Her gaze swept across the assembled in the semi-circle around her, and Harry felt his stomach clench in heightened apprehension.

"Due to the sensitive nature of this particular case, and the fact that minors are involved, this shall be a closed trial, with the Wizengamut presiding as the jury," Madame Bones continued gravely as she adjusted her monocle. "Until this trial has been concluded, all present are heretofore forbidden to discuss what happens with anyone outside of this room. Am I understood?"

Harry nodded and murmured his agreement along with everyone else.

Madame Bones nodded to the Aurors by the door, and they left the room. A few increasingly tense minutes passed, and Harry felt a line of sweat form at his left temple before it slowly traced the edge of his hairline, tickled his face where his glasses rested, and continued towards his jaw. He wiped it away with the edge of his robes' sleeve just as the Aurors returned, leading a line of people into the room.

Not one of the Death Eaters walked with their heads down; they all strode towards the chairs with their heads held high and their faces set in determined resolve. A couple even had mocking smiles on their faces.

Like Lucius Malfoy and Walden Macnair. Malfoy even dared to look right at Harry, and the man's lip curled into a malevolent sneer.

Harry stared woodenly back at the man, and felt consuming hatred mounting inside of him. The teen silently hoped that he had the strength to keep from hexing every single one of the Death Eaters in front of him before this was all through. He carefully kept his hand away from the pocket in his robes that he'd put his wand in, instead tightly gripping the robes on his lap.

Once all of the prisoners were seated in their respective chairs, Madame Bones once again stood. She nodded faintly to Minister Fudge, who had Percy start one of his Quick-Quills to record the trial.

"This trial beginning on the 13th of October, into offenses committed inside the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Mysteries on the evening of June 12th by accused Death Eaters Dominic Avery, Theodorus Crabbe, Antonin Dolohov, Sebastian Jugson, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Walden Macnair, Lucius Malfoy, Oberon Mulciber, Bartholomew Nott and Augustus Rookwood," the silver-haired witch intoned. Percy's Quick-Quotes Quill was flying across the parchment in order to keep up, and the other quills were poised over their respective parchments and ready for their turn.

"Interrogators: Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamut and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; and Percival Weasley, Assistant to the Minister and Court Scribe."

Madame Bones stopped to take a breath and affixed the prisoners with a baleful look. "All of you have been caught inside the Department of Mysteries, attacking students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, various employees of the Ministry as well as civilians. You were all wearing the garb of Death Eaters, the known associates and followers of Lord Voldemort."

Harry was a bit surprised, and pleased, that the formidable-looking woman had said the Dark Lord's name without any trace of fear or uncertainty.

"First, we shall present the facts as we know them, and then the witnesses shall make their statements. Then you shall be able to…"

Macnair snarled loudly and spat at the floor in front of him. "Doesn't matter _what_ you say, woman! The Dark Lord has returned, and you'll either bow to his rule or be obliterated!" the former executioner for the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures shouted.

"Shut _up_, you fool!" Malfoy hissed, but Macnair ignored the flaxen-haired man as Aurors quickly moved in with their wands pointing right at him.

"It doesn't matter that we didn't get the prophesy for Him! He has other ways to kill the Potter boy, and our path to victory will be clear!" Macnair leapt to his feet as the Aurors surrounded him and pointed a gnarly finger right at a stunned Harry. "YOU HEAR ME, BOY? YOU'RE DEAD! _DEAD!_" The grizzled old man laughed evilly just as two of the Aurors shot him with Stunning spells, and he slumped to the ground.

The reaction of the gathering up in the seats was mostly of stunned shock, but Harry found his view of the courtroom below him blocked as three Aurors, Charles being one, leapt in front of him with their wands at the ready like some sort of human shield. Ron had thrown a protective arm in front of Harry, as if he'd expected the raven-haired teen to lunge out of his seat at the Death Eaters below. From behind, Harry could also feel Hermione's comforting hand gripping his shoulder; or was it Tonks'?

After a few moments, the muted furor died down, and the three Aurors in front of Harry sat back down, although their entire bodies practically screamed their tense readiness. Madame Bones was standing just as Harry had last seen her, although her mouth was pressed so firmly together that it looked like a vertical slash in her face. Her eyes glittered with fury, and Harry was quite glad that he was never on the receiving end of her wrath. He absently reminded himself to ask Susan Bones if her Aunt was known for having a bad temper.

Harry did notice that Fudge had scrambled back behind a flustered Percy during the excitement, and was now hastily smoothing out his jacket as he affected an obviously false nonchalant attitude of reseating himself. Macnair had been removed from the courtroom, and there was now an Auror positioned behind each prisoner.

"Do the rest of you agree with Mr. Macnair's opinion?" Madame Bones said curtly.

The Death Eaters looked at each other, and then Malfoy slowly stood and spoke. "We have nothing to say… to _any_ of you," he almost snarled before regally reclaiming his seat.

"Very well then," Madame Bones responded sharply. "Does that mean that you wish to give up your right to a trial?"

None of the prisoners responded, instead all settling to glaring murderously at Harry.

Harry was used to being stared at, but not with such hate by so many adults before. Unnoticed, his scar began to prickle, and Harry's hand unconsciously rose to rub at it.

"If you refuse to defend yourselves, then we have no further option than to present the case against you and wait upon the decision of the jury," Madame Bones declared after a telling glance at Dumbledore and the rest of the Wizengamut. "Professor Dumbledore, please present your first witness."

The Headmaster stood, turned a little and fixed Harry with an assessing look before calling out, "I call… Harry Potter."

Harry stood slowly, feeling his knees quaver the tiniest bit. If there was ever a time for an attempt on his life, this would be it.

Four Aurors rose with him, and flanked the teen to the lowest of the seats in the arena. Harry then turned to his right and faced the assembled witches and wizards with his chin up and his jaw set.

"Harry James Potter, of 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Madame Bones asked.

"Yes," Harry said clearly.

"Please begin by explaining your presence at the Ministry on the evening of the 12th of June, Mister Potter," Minister Fudge spoke up.

Harry looked apprehensively at Dumbledore, whose expression didn't change in the slightest, and the Headmaster nodded ever so slightly. "I'd been having… dreams all last year," he began in an uncertain voice.

"What kinds of dreams?" Madame Bones asked.

"About… about doors. And halls," Harry replied. "At first I didn't know where they were to, but later on I figured out that they were in the Department of Mysteries."

"And what led you to believe that you had to go to that particular department?" Minister Fudge said suddenly.

Once again Harry shot an uncertain look at Dumbledore, who merely looked back at him with mild curiosity.

"I was having nightmares about Sirius being captured and tortured by Voldemort," he said.

A number of witches and wizards gasped or shuddered again at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, but Madame Bones' eyes merely widened.

"When you say Sirius, do you mean Sirius Black?" she asked. "The man convicted for murdering twelve Muggles and a wizard?"

"He wasn't convicted," Harry shot back with a trace of anger in his voice. "He was sent to Azkaban without even a trial." He glared at Fudge, who couldn't seem to quite meet his gaze. "And you've just cleared him last month, didn't you?"

"And why were you so concerned with the welfare of Sirius Black?" Dumbledore questioned kindly, as many members of the Wizengamut nodded at Harry's last question.

"Because he was my godfather," Harry said, feeling yet another wrench in his heart at his loss. "He was all I had left of my family," he finished quietly. He noticed Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Neville watching him with varying degrees of tragic expressions on their faces from the corner of his eye. In counterpoint, Luna seemed most interested in the detailing of the mortar on the walls, and didn't even look to be paying attention to the proceedings.

Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was quietly laughing, miming the wiping of non-existent tears from the corner of one eye. Harry's jaw clenched painfully, and he kept his furious gaze steadfastly fixed on his Headmaster.

"Why would you put your life, as well as the lives of countless others, at risk for a man you've never met?" Fudge demanded.

"I did meet him, in my third year when he came to the school," Harry replied, his voice cold with barely restrained anger.

"Ah yes, when he tried to murder you," Fudge nodded sagely.

"No, when he tried to save me through killing Peter Pettigrew," Harry shot back. "Peter was the one who betrayed my parents to Voldemort, and it was Peter who framed Sirius for their deaths!"

Fudge opened his mouth to retort, but Dumbledore calmly raised a hand. "I do believe that this was all worked out last month?" he inquired politely, and Madame Bones nodded.

"Yes, it was," she agreed curtly. "Now, Harry…" And the questioning continued for the next half hour before Harry was allowed to sit down, and his friends were all questioned in turn. When the last person, Luna, was finished with her testimony, Professor Dumbledore turned and bowed to Madame Bones.

"My own testimony was recorded with the Minister immediately afterwards," he spoke quietly, but was still clearly heard by all in the room. He looked over at Percy, who curtly nodded and held up a sealed scroll.

"I have it here, Ma'am," he said, and Madame Bones retrieved the scroll with a wave of her wand. With another flick, she'd multiplied the paper and had it distributed to the rest of the Wizengamut for them to read. The room was silent as the witches and wizards in purple read for the first time Dumbledore's exact wording of the events as he'd experienced them on the night of the 12th, and many were heard to mutter to themselves in concerned tones as Madame Bones read her copy aloud to the assembled.

Once it was clear all were finished reading, Madame Bones returned the scrolls to Percy with a nod of thanks and turned to the prisoners with a grim expression. "You have heard the testimony against you. Have any of the accused a word to say in their defense?"

All of the Death Eaters merely sat there, continuing to glare at Harry. No one spoke.

"Since you refuse to speak on your behalf, you leave us with no choice but to make our decision," the iron-haired witch declared, and she turned to her fellow members of the Wizengamut. "The prisoners shall now be returned to Azkaban to await the decision of the jury. This court is in recess until such time as a decision is made."

The gathered Aurors, other than Harry and his friend's guard, moved to secure the Death Eaters, and removed them silently from the room. Harry watched as they filed through the door, and clenched his fists so tightly that he lost feeling in them when Malfoy turned a little to grin murderously at him before disappearing around the doorframe.

_'What does he know?'_ Harry thought uneasily as he once again unconsciously rubbed his scar. _'Why did they all act like that? It's almost as if they were waiting for a sign.'_

All Harry could think of was how drained he felt, and how he wanted nothing more than to go back to his bed in Gryffindor Tower and sleep for the next few days uninterrupted.


	11. What's There To Be Thankful For?

_A/N: Just to let you know, this chapter has a little more cursing in it._

The rest of November passed without news of the Wizengamut's decision. Harry and Gwendolyn, however, began to quietly talk on occasion during and between classes. She seemed especially calm whenever she was outdoors, or in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout. It turned out that Gwendolyn was taking Advanced Herbology, as she'd admitted to the delighted Professor that she'd had quite an extensive herb garden back home, and was quite knowledgeable in the care of numerous species of plants. Neville had taken a bit of a shine to the quiet and withdrawn woman as well, as he was the only person in his year that had quite a talent for handling the more advanced courses with Professor Sprout. So it turned out that once a week, Neville, Gwendolyn, and three seventh years would meet with the Professor and help her care for her most delicate as well as dangerous plants.

It was another couple of weeks before Gwendolyn felt comfortable enough for Harry and Ron to join her and Hermione for the tutoring lessons. It turned out that Gwendolyn wouldn't need books due to her perfect memory; something that Ron commented on after noticing the woman wasn't hauling them around like everyone else.

"Wish I had a photographic memory," he groused on the way to Potions one day. "My back wouldn't hurt so bloody much then."

"Ronald Weasley, you are the laziest, most insensitive wart I know!" Hermione snapped back at him. "You have no idea what it's like having to live with that kind of burden!"

"That's not fair, 'Mione!" Ron returned hotly, before his brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, 'living with that kind of burden'?"

Harry replied quietly. "She can remember everything perfectly, as if she were still there, Ron."

The redhead frowned for a moment before he got what his friend was alluding to. "Oh."

Hermione nodded sharply. "Having perfect memory can be a blessing and a curse. And right now, for Gwen, it's a horrific curse."

Ron blushed a little, and the three were silent as they descended the stairs to the dungeons. But then he muttered as they approached the door to the classroom, "Anyway, Fred and George are lazier than I'd ever be, and you know it, 'Mione."

"Only with the things they aren't interested in," Hermione replied primly as she walked through the door to the classroom.

"Yeah, and that includes everything _but_ pulling jokes on people, doesn't it?" Ron shot back.

Harry hid his grin at the two's bickering. They just sounded more and more like an old married couple as the years went on. It was such fun to watch sometimes.

**oOo**

It was during the final Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas that Gwendolyn was able to venture out to Diagon Alley, since for some reason she either wasn't allowed or didn't wish to go to Hogsmeade. She left that Saturday morning with Hermione and Professor Dumbledore, leaving Harry and Ron to go first to Hogsmeade alone before coming back that evening and hanging out in the common room to play wizard's chess and catch up on studying. Hermione had even wanted them to start studying for their N.E.W.T.s next year, at which suggestion Ron had laughed a bit manically.

"I swear, Harry, every year we get more bloody homework piled on us," Ron complained, and Harry nodded morosely. "How the hell do they expect us to sort through all this? I mean, really!"

Harry dropped his quill onto the table and watched the snowflakes patter against the window nearest him. He'd felt more and more uneasy over the past few days, and he just couldn't put a finger on it. His scar had started itching a lot since the trial too, and he absently scratched at it as his thoughts skittered about like the snowflakes outside.

Something just didn't _feel_ right.

"Harry?" Ron repeated for the third time, pulling his friend out of his thoughts. "Where'd you go, mate?"

"Just thinking," Harry replied. The fingers of his right hand continued to unconsciously scrape at the scar on his forehead.

"Is it bothering you again?" Ron shot a concerned glance at him, and Harry merely nodded.

"For the past few days. It just won't stop itching for some reason."

Ron tilted his head to the side. "Any weird dreams lately?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing from Voldemort." He ignored his best friend's wince. "Something just… doesn't feel right. I don't know… I can't quite… put my finger on it…"

"Well, if you keep scratching at that thing, you're going to bleed all over your homework," Ron said, and Harry dropped his hand down to cup his chin and rest his elbow on the armrest of his chair. "C'mon, let's skive off for a bit and play some chess. What do you say?"

"Sure, why not?" Harry shrugged, and his nebulous worries drifted away as he concentrated on _not_ getting his player's arses kicked this time around.

**oOo**

That evening, Hermione came back to the tower to find her friends going through their bag of tricks they'd gotten from Fred and George back when they'd gone shopping in Diagon Alley for their school supplies.

"As a prefect, Ron, I hope that those are tricks you confiscated from other students," she leveled a warning glare on her friend.

Ron shrugged. "Actually, Fred and George gave them to us, asking if we could test them out on Peeves."

"And?" she drew out the word with an arched brow and her arms crossed under her chest.

Harry and Ron both shrugged, and Harry answered. "I don't think we'd get the chance, 'Mione. Too much work to do this year. Although…" he shot a grin at Ron, "if we get all our studying done before classes start again, we'd have some time to kill and test these spells out."

Ron snickered as Hermione tutted. "Don't let me catch you doing anything, you hear me? I have no problem with reporting you two to McGonagall."

"You're getting soft there," Ron teased. "Time was you'd chew us out for even _thinking_ of doing something that could get us into trouble."

"I think we're a bad influence on her, Ron," Harry joined in, and Hermione chuckled wryly as she leaned on the back of the couch they were sitting on.

"How'd the shopping go?" Harry changed the subject after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"Pretty well," she replied. "Although Gwen did get an interesting wand. Yew, 8 1/2 inches with a griffin feather."

Ron's eyes widened. "That's pretty rare," he commented with a touch of awe in his voice.

"How long did it take for her to find the right one?" Harry asked, remembering his own experience with his wand.

"Took almost 2 hours, actually," Hermione replied. "We took a break for some lunch and had to come back later. Mr. Ollivander was a little frustrated and said that he needed some time to think about it. But otherwise, we got Gwen everything she needed."

"You reckon we'll see her any time over Christmas break?" Harry asked quietly, and Hermione nodded. All three friends were staying at the school for the holiday, as Ron's parents were going to visit Charlie in Romania, on personal as well as Order business, and Hermione's parents were going to France. Hermione had told them that she needed to stay at school and tutor a new exchange student, and they reluctantly agreed.

"I'm still tutoring her in some of the classes," she replied. "She said it was okay if you two wanted to study with us."

"When are you meeting?" Ron asked.

"Every morning after breakfast," she said. "And I don't know if you realized this, but it's really late, and I'm off to bed."

The boys glanced at the clock on the mantle above the fire, and were surprised to see that it was already past 1:30am, so they put away their inventory of magical tricks and headed off to bed as well.

**oOo**

The first morning of Christmas break arrived, and Harry and Ron followed Hermione to Firenze's classroom, with the bushy-haired young woman cryptically explaining that this was the logical place to meet since the weather outside was so frightful.

As they entered the magicked classroom, they realized why.

Gwendolyn was dangling upside down on a branch about a third of the way up the trunk of an oak tree at the edge of the clearing, her cat stretched out beside her bent legs and lazily regarding the three teens as they approached. The woman was wearing her now trademark green hooded duster, T-shirt, and ripped jeans. Her worn black leather biker boots were resting at the base of the tree, along with a blanket and her satchel.

"Honestly Gwen, I wonder if you're half bat," Hermione teased as they came up underneath the branch the young woman hung from. Gwendolyn opened her eyes and smiled a little.

"It's amazing what one can notice when one's perspective is changed," she replied with a note of bemusement in her rich alto voice. She twisted and straightened her legs, suddenly falling to the ground and landing lightly on her feet beside her younger mentor.

Ron and Harry had sucked in startled breaths and stepped back when Gwendolyn dropped from the branch, but Hermione merely rolled her eyes.

"Show off," she murmured, and Gwendolyn actually smiled.

"Well, I have been told I must be half tree monkey and half cat more times than I can count," the dark-haired witch commented.

"By who?" Ron asked.

The amusement quickly faded from her face, and Gwendolyn dropped her gaze to her bare feet. Interestingly enough, Harry noted, her toenails were painted silver. "Eadoin," she said quietly.

Ron's eyebrows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to most likely ask who this Eadoin was, but Harry elbowed his friend in the ribs and shook his head.

"Ah," was all that came out of Ron's mouth.

"What are you two working on today?" Harry asked, wisely changing the subject.

"Transfiguration," Hermione replied with a sideways look at her new friend. Gwendolyn merely shook herself a little with a pained grimace, which in an odd way reminded Harry of Sirius, and his good mood for the day spiraled down the drain.

As the others made their way to the blanket Gwendolyn had laid out underneath the tree, Harry held back, absently looking into the deeper parts of the magicked forest classroom.

"Harry," Ron noticed his friend's reticence. "What's the matter?"

The raven-haired teen shrugged as he ducked his head. "I'll be back," he replied strangely before walking off into the woods.

"What's wrong?" Gwendolyn asked.

"Harry's… not been the same since his godfather died earlier this year," Hermione said quietly.

"Oh." And Gwendolyn's eyes grew disturbed once again. She turned away a little as she said in a monotone, "Guess we'd better get started on that Transfigurations lesson, then."

About half an hour later, Harry quietly rejoined the others. Gwendolyn was having a lot of difficulty changing a pine cone to a butterfly, and after another few minutes of fruitless attempts, she threw her wand away from her in exasperation.

She bounced to her feet with a wince at how the sudden movement pulled at her mostly healed wounds. Her cat narrowed her eyes at her human, but remained seated beside Hermione and Crookshanks.

"MERDE!" Gwendolyn swore. "When would I ever want to change a pine cone into a fucking butterfly!"

The boys were taken aback at the vehemence in the woman's voice, but Hermione merely sighed.

"I've told you before, Gwen," she explained patiently, "It's not _what_ you're doing, so much as what _you're_ doing to get it done."

Gwendolyn growled in response, her back to the others as she ran fingers through her long wavy hair in frustration.

"I don't have the patience for this," she said as she turned around and paced back and forth beside the blanket. "Now, if I was taught how to change a branch into a spear or a sword…"

"Why would you want to do that?" Ron asked.

"Practical application of magic makes a hell of a lot more sense to me than… than this," Gwendolyn gestured curtly to the pine cone fluttering a few inches from the ground with beautiful orange and black wings.

"You have to start with the basics," Harry spoke up for the first time since he'd rejoined the others.

"I feel like an idiot," Gwendolyn retorted.

"Well, you're not," Harry said, and the young woman looked sharply at him.

"Having a perfect memory doesn't mean that I'm intelligent," she spat. "It just makes me one hell of a big parrot."

"It's how you use what you know that shows how smart you are," Harry held his ground, and Gwendolyn's eyes widened.

"You're pretty wise for a kid," she said, and Ron and Hermione winced as they saw the thunderclouds forming on their best friends' face.

"I'm not a damned kid," Harry snapped, and he rose and stiffly walked back into the woods.

Gwendolyn frowned thoughtfully. "I seem to have missed something."

But the others didn't feel like explaining Harry's life story right then.

**oOo**

A few hours later, they finished studying for the day, and as Ron, Hermione and Gwendolyn cleaned up to leave, Gwendolyn looked around. "Should we tell Harry that we're leaving?" she asked.

The young man in question somberly regarded the others from his shaded spot up in a neighboring tree.

"He'll come out when he wants to," Ron replied with a one-shouldered shrug. "More likely than not, he's hanging out with Firenze."

The woman nodded, her eyes mirroring the questioning confusion she was feeling, but she remained silent.

"Gwen, do you want to get together this afternoon to work on your Potions?" Hermione quietly asked, and the older woman shook her head.

"Merci, but Professor Snape has been assisting me with that class," she replied, and Ron shot her an incredulous look. "If you don't mind, Hermione, I'd really appreciate your help with this essay Professor Binns gave us. I'm having difficulty finding any reference material on the Goblin Rebellion of 1868."

The three walked out of the magicked room discussing the dratted essay, with Gwendolyn's cat Azrael lying across her shoulders under the curtain of her hair.


	12. Now You See Me, Now You Don't

**Chapter 12 – Now You See Me, Now You Don't**

Harry, Ron and Hermione knew something was terribly wrong when, the next morning after breakfast, Professors Dumbledore and Snape strode into the Transfigurations classroom where the teens were waiting for Gwendolyn. Another winter storm was brewing, and from the look of the sky and the size of the already falling snowflakes, it was brewing up to be a monster.

"Where is she?" the Potions Professor snapped, his eyes glittering with fury and… worry?

The teens whipped their heads around from looking over their homework.

"Gwen?" Hermione asked. "She was supposed to meet us here to study fifteen minutes ago."

Harry solemnly watched the Professor's faces as their reactions briefly swam over them. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore sighed a little, and rubbed his brow before dropping his hand and looking directly at the young man. "She's disappeared."

"When was the last time you saw her?" Snape snarled as the wind outside began to howl. His fingers clenched and unclenched unconsciously, as if he heartily wished to strangle something.

Hermione answered, her eyes wide. "Yesterday, Professor. Right before supper."

Snape's robes swirled about his lean figure as he whipped around to face the Headmaster. "I've searched the entire castle, and can't find her anywhere."

Dumbledore frowned. "I'll ask Hagrid to help search the grounds, but I have the feeling that we won't find her here."

"Where could she have gone?!" Snape almost bellowed his frustration. "She knows she's not safe outside the school!"

"Calm yourself, Severus," Dumbledore soothed. "We shall do what we can, but we have to trust that Gwendolyn would not willingly put herself in danger."

"It's the 'willingly' part that has me worried, Headmaster," Snape murmured as he turned back to the classroom door.

"Professor," Harry spoke up, "is there anything we can do to help?"

Dumbledore leveled an assessing look on the raven-haired teen for a silent moment before answering. "Harry, has anything strange happened for you recently?"

Harry shook his head. "No, no dreams, sir." But at Ron's elbow nudging his ribs, he continued. "But my scar's been itching for the past few days. Something… just doesn't feel right." He shrugged, wishing that he could have been more helpful.

"Hmmm," Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Harry. Please let Professor Snape or myself know if you hear anything from young Gwendolyn, will you?"

The three nodded in tandem, and the Headmaster followed the still highly agitated Potions Master out of the room.

The day passed without any sign from the woman, and Harry's feeling of unease grew.

Especially when he saw Gwendolyn's cat sitting at the bottom of the front hall stairs like a statue, staring intently at the closed doors as if waiting for her human to come through them any second.

**…………**

The next morning, Christmas Eve, Harry awoke to the wind howling outside, and even with the stove in his and Ron's room running at full steam, the room was still bitterly cold. Harry quickly dressed, pulling one of Mrs. Weasley's extra-warm woolen sweaters over his T-shirt and hooded sweatshirt. Ron was buried under the middle of a mound of covers in his bed, and Harry just didn't feel like taking the effort to wake his best friend up. Besides, the raven-haired teen had an urgent call of nature to attend to.

Afterwards, Harry quickly made his way to the Great Hall, hoping that at least there it would be warmer. But even the magicked ceiling wasn't helping with its illusion of arctic cold, and there wasn't anyone else there yet for breakfast. So Harry instead made his way to the painting entrance to the kitchens to see if any of the house elves were awake and able to give him a hot cup of anything to warm his insides. Azrael (whose full name was Milady Azrael, as Gwendolyn had cryptically explained that she had liked the first name and the cat preferred the second, so they compromised and combined the two) followed him, only leaving her post because he had promised her a treat.

As soon as the fruit painting had swung shut behind them, Harry noticed right away that things were a bit less than normal in the kitchen. Raised voices and the sounds of sobbing spurred him to stride faster, and he quickly came into the light of the kitchen to be greeted with the vision of a couple of elves backed into a corner by…

"Gwen?"

The obviously enraged woman spun a little to see who was so rudely interrupting. Harry's jaw dropped as he noticed the tattered, torn and bloodied clothes that were hanging off of the woman's slight body. Her normally glossy hair was wet, matted and tangled, with burrs and bits of twigs knotted up in it. She had bruises blossoming all over her frost-bitten face, as well as any visible parts of her body… which were quite a lot.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she growled as she automatically hefted the short sword she clutched tightly in her left hand. Harry absently noted that it was almost completely coated in dried blood.

Harry blinked. "I was about to ask you the same thing," he answered plainly.

Instead of answering him, she rounded back to the two elves she had cornered, one of whom happened to be Winky, the source of the sobbing Harry had heard. The tiny house elf was lying on the ground, wringing her hands and crying harder than the teen had ever seen her. The other elf, caught as he was trying to edge away from an incensed Gwendolyn, backed into the wall with his long hands held out pleadingly.

"Dippett swears to ya, Miss, we won't tell no one. Honestly, we won't!" he pleaded over Winky's renewed wails.

"Tell anyone what?" Harry asked suspiciously as Azrael leapt on to the table beside him.

Dobby suddenly appeared at Harry's knee and tugged on the edge of his sweater. "Oh, Harry Potter, sir, please," he squeaked urgently. "Miss runs away and just comes back this morning, sir! Miss thinks we'll tell where she's been, sir!"

Gwendolyn attempted to spin on her heel and staggered. She grabbed onto the edge of a table to steady herself as she shook her head a little. "Shut up, Dobby," she warned throatily.

Harry felt a spark of anger ignite in him. "Don't tell him to shut up. Where the hell have you been? We've all been worried to death!"

Gwendolyn's eyes narrowed into vicious slits. "Why should you worry about me?" she spat. "I can bloody well take care of myself, boy."

One of Harry's eyebrows tried to meet his hairline. "Right. That should be obvious," he retorted, nodding meaningfully at the woman's state of undress.

"Look, I'm not going to the Infirmary, all right?!" Gwendolyn almost yelled in frustration. Her legs trembled, and suddenly an elf was behind her with a chair. She sank down onto it, her eyes closing briefly in extreme weariness as she dropped first her sword to the ground and then her head into her hands.

Azrael strode up to her human, purring softly and rubbing her head against Gwendolyn's bent one gently.

The elves took this as a sign, and Dippett pulled a still sobbing Winky to the farthest corner of the kitchen while the others hurried to finish making breakfast. Another female elf placed two steaming mugs of mulled cider on the table, two took the fallen sword to clean it, while Dobby urged Harry to a chair beside Gwendolyn's.

Harry reluctantly sat beside the exhausted woman and wrapped his hands around the warm mug. "Why are you down here, Gwen?"

She shrugged a little, her face still cradled in her hands. "I sometimes like to cook when I've much on my mind, but the kitchen's also got a shortcut from the outside."

"Must be here quite a lot, then."

Harry could hear the amusement in her voice as she replied. "You could say that, oui. And these elves are very… accommodating."

A few moments passed before Harry spoke up again. "Care to tell me about it?" he asked quietly.

"Dunno if you'd understand," she murmured into her hands.

Harry smiled mirthlessly. "Try me."

Gwendolyn dropped her hands to the table and looked with hooded eyes at the young man beside her for a few silent seconds. "One of the foster families I lived with had this thing about celebrating Thanksgiving," she finally began. "They were originally from America, and every year they'd insist on everyone expressing at least one thing they were thankful for."

Harry nodded. He'd heard about the American custom, and was glad he'd never had to participate in anything like it. It would've been one more reason for the Dursley's to lecture him about how grateful he should have been for their "sacrifices".

"They'd insisted we do the same thing at Christmastime also. My… husband thought it was quaint, so as a joke we celebrated it as well," she continued, her voice husky. "Eadoin was so looking forward to teaching Ash about it." Her voice trailed off, her eyes squeezing shut in an obvious effort to keep from crying.

Harry sat there, feeling the emptiness in his own heart echoing her pain.

"What the hell do I have to be thankful for this year?!" Gwendolyn suddenly howled, grabbing her mug and smashing it against the kitchen wall across the table.

Immediately, three elves came and cleaned up the mess and supplied the distraught woman with a new mug of fresh hot cider. She regarded it grimly, her shaking hands automatically wrapping themselves around the not unwelcome warmth.

Harry didn't move, and just sipped from his mug.

A few silent minutes passed, with the two surrounded by their dark thoughts, before Gwendolyn finally spoke again. "You didn't even try to give me one of those 'You should be thankful you're alive' speeches."

Harry shrugged. "Why would I do that?" he replied quietly. "It's a load of bull, anyway."

A grim smile washed briefly across the haggard woman's face. "Oui, it is."

"From the way you look, I'd say you went for a run in the Forbidden Forest," Harry ventured, and when Gwendolyn merely nodded once in answer, he shook his head in mild disbelief. "You do realize that there are a lot of things in there that'd kill you without a second thought?" He swallowed some more of the mulled cider.

"Oui," blue eyes crinkled a little at their corners, as if in amusement at some private joke. "But sometimes a… run… does wonders to clear my head," she murmured. "There are times it just gets too full of… memories, but I have a feeling you understand how that feels, eh?" She turned her head slightly to regard Harry, who closed his eyes briefly to hide his reaction.

"Yeah, you could say that," he replied darkly. But then Harry shook his head a little and changed the subject. "You sure you don't want some of those cuts looked at?" he asked neutrally. "A few of them look pretty nasty."

Gwendolyn shook her head. "Merci, but no. I've survived much worse." She drained her cup in one draught and stood, albeit a bit shakily. "A nice long bath and a nap and I'll be fine."

Harry smiled without mirth. "Madame Pomfrey can be a bit… overbearing sometimes, can't she?"

Gwendolyn snorted. "Unbelievably so."

"And you might want to let Professor Snape know you're back," Harry said quietly. "He was looking to tear someone's head off, he's so worried."

"Severus was always a bit overprotective of those he cared about," she said wryly. "He of all people should know I can take care of myself." But before Harry could react to that strange statement, Gwendolyn briefly rested a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up in surprise. "I want to thank you, Harry."

"For what?"

"For listening," she replied softly, her eyes haunted by a soul-consuming sadness. "As disturbing as it is, it's some comfort to know I'm not the only one who's suffered here. If at any time you feel the need to talk, I'd be honored to listen."

And with a gentle squeeze, she let go of Harry's shoulder and silently limped out of the kitchen. Leaving him to wonder what exactly had happened out there in the Forbidden Forest. Merely going for a run out there wouldn't have caused the injuries he'd just seen, and also didn't explain why she'd had a bloody sword in her hands. Harry suspected that there was a lot more going on with this woman than she was letting on.

**…………**

Christmas morning, Harry awoke to the usual presents at the end of his bed, but with one addition.

Carefully wrapped in forest green paper was a set of razor-sharp sparkling throwing knives, along with a spring-loaded arm holster that he could wear under his school clothes. The accompanying note simply said, "They just seemed right for you. Gwen"

Ron looked up in puzzlement from his similarly wrapped package. "Why did Gwen give me a staff?"

Harry came over to his friend's bed and looked over the short note. "Push that knob… here," he said, and Ron complied to find a hidden blade spring out of the end of the staff.

"Whoa!" Ron grunted in surprise. "Mum'll never let me take this home!"

Harry smiled slightly. "She will if you don't tell her about the sharp pointy thing," he chuckled.

The red-haired teen shook his head in bemusement. "Wonder what she gave Hermione?"


	13. Happy New Year

**Chapter 13 – Happy New Year**

The day after Christmas was one of great relief for Harry, as the verdict was finally announced from the Wizengamut. As the few students and professors staying at the school ate breakfast together in the Great Hall, the morning post came swooping in. Four owls landed gracefully on the table and held out their legs to be relieved of their burdens. One of them was in front of Dumbledore, with what was obviously a letter from the Ministry of Magic.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" he murmured bemusedly. "A belated Christmas present?" The Headmaster slid a finger under the Ministry's official seal in the sudden silence as all eyes rested on him. He pulled the creamy white parchment out, unfolded it and began to read. As his eyes darted back and forth, the corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched upwards in a barely contained smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Harry's heart was beating rather quickly, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the verdict or not. If the Death Eaters were declared guilty, then they'd be sent to Azkaban for the rest of their lives, and Harry would have some murderously pissed off students returning to school from the Christmas holiday. If the Death Eaters were released, then Harry would have eleven adult wizards running amok with him as their Public Enemy Number One. Neither possible outcome seemed particularly favorable.

Dumbledore looked up, right at Harry, and declared, "All eleven defendants have been declared guilty," he said, and the inhabitants of the table suddenly erupted in applause and wild cheers. Ron and Professor Flitwick pounded Harry on his back, their enthusiasm practically driving his face into the omelet sitting half-eaten in front of him.

Once the joyous outbursts had calmed, Harry looked back at Dumbledore, who was watching him solemnly. The aged professor seemed to know exactly what Harry was thinking just by the expression on his face (which of course was entirely possible, as the Headmaster was an expert Legillimens), and he quietly said, "Steps have been taken, Harry."

Those five words were quite a relief for the teen, and he tentatively smiled. "If any of them try anything…"

"We will know," Professor McGonagall answered primly, leveling a stern look at her young charge. "All you need to do is tell us if anything… transpires, Potter."

"And you might want to keep my birthday present to you handy, Harry," Dumbledore added.

Harry nodded, and even though some of the others at the table didn't understand that last cryptic exchange, they all continued with their breakfast with lighter hearts.

**…………**

The week after New Years', all the students and even some of the teachers at the castle were getting quite antsy with cabin fever. This winter was brewing up to be one of the worst in Hogwarts' history, what with almost two meters of snow already lying outdoors and yet another storm brewing on the horizon.

Harry was in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with his fellow Gryffindors, waiting for Professor Dumbledore to come in and start the class.

"What d'you think he's got for us today?" Ron asked Harry with a note of excitement in his voice.

Harry shrugged. "No idea," he replied quietly. Dumbledore had told them all at the end of the last class to be prepared for a demonstration at the beginning of the lesson. All of the tables were against the walls, and the students were sitting on top of them in the back of the room waiting for their teacher to enter.

Suddenly the door to the classroom opened, and Gwendolyn uncertainly popped her head into the room.

"Um, Professor?" she asked. She noticed all of the teenagers waiting at the back of the room, and her face lost a little color. "Sorry, my mistake," she murmured, and prepared to close the door and leave.

"Gwen, who are you looking for?" Hermione spoke up, and the young woman stuck her head back in the room.

"The Headmaster wanted to see me," Gwendolyn replied. "I'm sorry to interrupt your lesson…"

"He's teaching this class today," Hermione said. "He should be here any second."

"Oh." Gwendolyn frowned in puzzlement, but she edged around the door to lean on the jamb. Her cat, Azrael, loped into the room and blinked owlishly at the murmuring teenagers before settling herself in front of Gwendolyn's feet.

"Ah, Miss MacCollum," Dumbledore's cheerful voice greeted them, and everyone saw that the Professor had quietly entered the room from the teachers' study and was standing at the top of the small stairwell. "Right on time. Please, please, come join me." He waved for her to come to the front of the room, but Gwendolyn remained leaning against the doorjamb.

"Professor, why did you wish to see me here?" she asked warily.

Dumbledore smiled kindly, for he knew that the young woman was highly uncomfortable being around larger groups of people. "I need your assistance with a demonstration for the class," he replied, and Gwen blinked for a moment before shrugging and joining him at the front of the room.

"Miss MacCollum, I have learned, has had some experience in dealing with the creature I shall be showing you today," Dumbledore began, and he motioned for the young woman to go into the teacher's office behind him as he continued. "Now, I ask that all of you kindly remain as still as you can while Hagrid and Miss MacCollum get things set up."

Harry and Ron looked at each other questioningly. This didn't sound like it was going to be very safe…

"Mon dieu, whatever possessed you to bring one of _these_ things here?!" Gwendolyn's startled voice drifted through the door, and Dumbledore smiled a little.

"Ac'ually, I found a family of 'em in the Dark Fores'," Hagrid's deep voice quietly boomed in response. "This'un's jus' a baby."

What worried Harry wasn't what Hagrid was saying, but how… fond the half-giant sounded about his creature. Beside the raven-haired teen, his best friend scooted back on the table a little.

"As long as it isn't a spider," Ron muttered uncomfortably.

The other students murmured uneasily, and Dumbledore raised both hands to gain their attention.

"I assure you, children, that you are all perfectly safe," he said, but somehow that didn't assuage Harry's concern. "This particular creature is also one you were to cover in Hagrid's class, so we thought it wise to combine the two lessons just this once."

Hagrid emerged from the office, doubled over in order to clear the doorway, carrying something swaddled in his arms: something that was squealing at a high and panicked pitch. Gwendolyn followed the half-giant, the look of concern on her face also not helping Harry's feeling of apprehension.

Dumbledore led his two erstwhile assistants down into the classroom proper, and Hagrid stayed at the front of the classroom while the slight and wiry woman positioned herself to the side of the group of teenagers. Azrael crouched by the door to the hallway, looking as uneasy as her human.

"As some of you may know," Dumbledore began the lesson with a knowing look at Seamus Finnegan of all people, "the Isle of Drear is located off the north tip of Scotland, and has been made Unplottable for one reason only."

Seamus' hissed indrawn breath caused his classmates to shift about even more uneasily, and a few of the others also reacted similarly as they realized what the Professor was talking about.

As Dumbledore paused, Hagrid set the bundled creature in his arms down on the ground, and Harry saw out of the corner of his eye how Gwendolyn half-crouched on the balls of her feet as the cloth fell away to reveal…

A small mass of thick reddish-brown fur with five stumpy legs sticking out of the bottom of it stood quivering on the floor. Harry was just barely able to detect beady black eyes in what he presumed was the head, before the furball raised up its snout and gave a mighty sniff. Its head immediately swung around as it scented the group of teenagers amassed at the back of the classroom, and suddenly a giant maw lined with rows upon rows of razor-sharp spiked teeth gaped open. Drool immediately began to gather in small puddles from either side of what was obviously its mouth onto the floor, and suddenly… it charged.

Harry heard Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil emit little screams of terror as he whipped out his wand from his robes. He barely noticed that Ron and Hermione had done the same on either side of him.

But as Harry was opening his mouth to utter a spell, or a curse, he wasn't entirely sure, Gwendolyn darted in front of him and the others and placed herself directly in the path of the charging creature. Strange grunts and squeals came out of her mouth, and to Harry's amazement, the ball of fur slowed its stampede and skidded to a halt mere inches from the young woman. She slowly knelt down and continued to grunt and squeal imperiously at the animal, and it sat down on its haunches, its club feet sticking out this way and that as it cocked its head to one side and then another as it listened.

Very slowly, Gwendolyn rose to a low crouch and picked up the deceptively mild-looking creature by what Harry felt must be its midsection, and carried it carefully back to a beaming Hagrid.

Harry glanced over at Dumbledore, who was also smiling happily. As Hagrid wrapped the little furball back up in the cloth he'd had it originally swaddled in, Dumbledore waved the students forward as he cleared his throat.

"That, students, is a Quintaped," he said. "As I was saying, the Isle of Drear was made Unplottable solely because of these small but highly ferocious creatures. They are only found on that particular island, and they are considered to be one of the most dangerous of the magical creatures in the world. Why, might you ask?"

Seamus tentatively raised a hand, and the Professor nodded at him. "Yes, Mr. Finnegan."

"Because they're vicious little blighters," the teen began vehemently. "They're carnivores, and they particularly like how humans taste. Bastards took my uncle's foot years ago, before they were regulated like they are now."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Absolutely correct, Mr. Finnegan. Ten points to Gryffindor. No one is exactly sure how the Quintapeds were created, exactly, but there is quite an interesting story involving a feud between two wizarding clans and a poorly thought out attack, but you can read about that as part of your homework. Chapter Fourteen in Mr. Scamander's riveting book."

Hagrid, now finished bundling up the baby Quintaped, moved to leave the classroom, but Harry suddenly spoke up.

"Professor… Hagrid… why would these… Quintapeds… be considered as something we should cover in our Defense class?"

Dumbledore looked back at Harry with a sober, yet approving gaze as the half-giant paused beside the door to the room. "I believe tha' Miss MacCollum would be able ta answer tha' question," Hagrid replied as Dumbledore waved the suddenly nervous woman over to his side, and she eyed the curious teenagers in front of her with mounting anxiety.

When she failed to speak after a few tense moments, the Professor prompted, "Someone you knew who dealt with these creatures on a regular basis?" And that seemed to break through Gwendolyn's muteness.

"Oui," she murmured before shaking herself a little. "A… friend…" she dipped her eyes and head a little, her cheeks losing a bit of color, "of mine was a Game Keeper, and he had to go to the Island every few months to check on the animals and make sure they weren't breeding out of control, or that anyone was illegally hunting or attempting to export them. He never went alone, as he'd told me that these particular animals were quite vicious, and as you said Professor, carnivorous."

She paused to take a breath, and her attack of nerves seemed to steady out. "One day he came home with an injured one, and explained to me that there had been a mass slaughter on the island, and that he needed to personally care for this one, as there were very few healthy breeding females left. I helped him nurse the wounded one back to health before he released it." A ghost of a private smile washed across Gwendolyn's face before she continued. "He also explained to me that there were certain… people, who were into practicing dark witchcraft, that particularly liked using these animals as guard-dogs, and as their own sick version of a 'garbage disposal'." She grimaced in disgust the same time that Seamus emitted a mock gagging noise.

Gwendolyn glanced questioningly at the boy, and he elaborated. "I told you that my uncle had his foot chewed off by one of those things?" he asked, and the young woman nodded. "At the time, he was working for the Ministry of Magic's Regulation of Magical Creatures Department, and had to go investigate one family when they were reported to have an illegal. He didn't even make it to the front door before the vicious bastard had at him. Uncle Nat's bloomin' lucky to've only lost his foot."

Neville raised his hand, and Dumbledore glanced at Gwendolyn. She froze for a moment, before realizing that the teen was looking to her to ask his question. "Um, yes Neville?"

"How did you stop the Quintaped from charging us?" the usually unsure teen asked.

Gwendolyn blinked. "I told it to stop," she said simply. Her black eyebrows bunched together questioningly as the students murmured in confusion.

Dumbledore noticed the young woman's puzzlement and stepped in. "Miss MacCollum has a rare gift. She is able to talk to any animal," he said quietly.

"What? Like Doctor Dolittle?" Dean Thomas asked incredulously, and was answered with a few snickers from some of his classmates.

But Harry wasn't even remotely amused.

Neither was Gwendolyn.

"Actually, I was able to communicate perfectly with those goblins that visited the school last week," she replied tersely with a pointed look at Dumbledore, and the giggling immediately stopped.

The Headmaster nodded. "Ah, yes, well, that meeting is not one that the students would be aware of," he said mildly, and Gwendolyn's eyes widened a little in understanding.

"Are you saying that you can speak any language?" Hermione asked, and Gwendolyn nodded once.

"As far as I know, yes," she said.

"Well, that's a pretty handy talent, isn't it?" Ron said, and Gwendolyn smiled a little.

"It can be," she replied quietly, a haunted look briefly washing across her sapphire eyes.

Harry was suddenly struck with the image of Voldemort's snake, Nagini, winding her way around Tom Riddle Sr.'s gravestone, hissing her desire to eat Harry piece by piece, and he shuddered.

Parvati Patil raised her hand, and Gwendolyn indicated that the girl should go ahead. "You still didn't tell us how we should protect ourselves from these things," she said, and Dumbledore and Gwendolyn both nodded. Hagrid smiled at the tiny woman's back before silently leaving the room with his little furry charge carefully held in his arms.

"Best thing you can do," Gwendolyn said, "is start a fire between you and the animal," she explained. "They're terrified of it, as their fur is for some reason quite flammable. Also doesn't help them that the little buggers are built so close to the ground," she smiled. "But you do need to keep this in mind," she continued as Dumbledore quietly stepped back to give her the floor, "their feet are razor sharp, and are quite handy for them in tenderizing their meals. Even the sturdiest leather won't hold up against them, and you're more likely than not to lose a few toes. Steel-toed boots are best when dealing with them, but even that can be a flimsy protection depending on the size of the beasts. As I said, fire is the best defense you have…"

Before Harry and the others knew it, the class was over, and Dumbledore's homework was for everyone to practice the Flame Spell, to be demonstrated next time by each student. Everyone filed out of the room, talking animatedly about the vivid demonstration, but Harry, Ron and Hermione held back.

Gwendolyn was leaning on the windowsill to the room, looking almost longingly out the window at the Forbidden Forest. Seamus Finnegan had also stayed behind, and was already a few steps away from Gwendolyn. Dumbledore had nodded kindly at the three students and walked back up the stairs after thanking his young assistant for her help during the class.

"Gwendolyn?" Seamus asked, and the dark-haired woman turned a little to glance at him. "That friend you were talking about earlier in class… you were talking about Eadoin MacCollum, weren't you?"

All the color drained from Gwendolyn's face, and her eyes widened in shock. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but an inarticulate strangled sound… almost like what a wounded animal would make. Seamus retreated a step at the extreme reaction he'd gotten, but he didn't back down.

"That's no coincidence that you have the same last name, is it? My uncle worked with Eadoin, and said he was a good man," Seamus said, a note of sadness in his voice. "He was your husband, wasn't he?"

Dumbstruck, Gwendolyn merely nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to say… I'm sorry," Seamus said quickly, obviously distressed with how the young woman was reacting. He raised a hand to touch her arm, but she flinched away from him, and he instead turned and quickly made his way out of the room, not looking at Harry and the others.

Harry watched Gwendolyn standing there trembling in reaction, and suddenly turned, grabbed Ron and Hermione's arms and dragged them out of the room.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, and wrenched her arm out of his hand after they'd gone a few steps down the corridor. "What did you do that for?"

"She needed some time alone," Harry replied quietly. He continued walking down the corridor, his friends following him a few steps behind, Ron occasionally shooting a backwards look over his shoulder.

Once they'd reached the front hall, Harry turned suddenly and stopped them. "Back when I was in the Hospital Wing when I was knocked off my broom, I'd heard some stuff that I later thought I'd dreamt. But what Seamus said back there makes sense of it all now."

"Sense of what, Harry?" Ron asked.

"For some reason, Voldemort's Death Eaters kidnapped Gwen and her baby, and murdered her husband Eadoin and his niece," Harry said in a low whisper. "They wanted something from Gwen, and they'd kept her for over a month, torturing her. A group of her husband's friends tried to rescue her, but they did it the night that Voldemort and the rest of his followers came, and they were all killed. Gwen managed to get a broom and escape, and you guys know the rest."

"But what about Gwen's baby?" Hermione asked.

"He died the night of the rescue," Harry replied darkly, and Ron whistled soundlessly.

"I'd be a basket case if I had to go through all that," Ron said sympathetically.

"Who's to say Gwen isn't?" Hermione retorted with a sad look. "She even told me that she didn't sleep very much at night, but she never said why."

"I've had to take quite a few Dreamless Sleep potions myself over the summer," Harry admitted, and his friends shot him sad looks. "It was the only way I'd've gotten any sleep," he finished a bit defensively.

"Well, I hope Seamus doesn't go blabbing about what he knows all over school," Hermione said briskly. "Last thing that poor woman needs is everyone paying unwanted attention to her."

Harry turned and started towards the Great Hall, where fellow students were still streaming in for lunch. "Yeah, I know what that's like," he muttered.


	14. Winter Games

**Chapter 14 – Winter Games**

The next Hogsmeade weekend wasn't until February, which was good for Harry, as he and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team needed every available moment to practice. Although they currently were in second place after Ravenclaw, Slytherin was only thirty points behind them, and Angelina wanted to make sure they racked up as many points as they could in the next match against Hufflepuff.

Madam Hooch was kind enough to clear the pitch of all the snow, as there was now over three meters of densely packed powder. Dean Thomas had mentioned that morning that this was a skier's wildest dream, which of course confused his Muggle-illiterate roommates.

"Who would be insane enough to strap two pieces of wood to their feet?" Neville had asked incredulously. "Sounds like an invitation to break your neck to me."

"That's what makes it so exciting and fun," Dean replied with a devilish grin. "The risk, the speed, the possibility that at any moment you could hit a rock… or a tree… or fall off a cliff…"

"It's about as safe as flying a broomstick, Neville," Harry interjected at his friend's horrified expression.

Neville just shook his head. "And you don't see me flying all that much, do you?" he said, that one simple sentence reminding his friends that he was a less than stellar flier.

**…………**

Harry released the snitch, and waited a minute before kicking off the ground. _'At least it's too cold for people to watch us practice,'_ he thought gratefully. Malfoy and his Slytherin fan club had taken it upon themselves to show up at nearly all of the Gryffindor practices once they'd heard that Harry was wearing the helmet that Fred and George had given as a birthday present. After that fall in the beginning of the year, he didn't want to take any chances that the person(s) responsible for hexing him off his broom (which of course he still suspected was Malfoy) would wish to try their hand at it again.

Ginny and Dennis Creevey, of all people, had meshed into quite the formidable pair as Beaters, and had even gained the grudging respect of the Weasley twins after they'd visited just to watch the previous match against Slytherin. The two new Beaters showed no fear and quite a bit of ruthlessness as they teamed up on their opponents, and they were now working on a new strategy that Dennis called "tag-teaming". Harry recognized one of the maneuvers as being modified from a Muggle sport called tag-team wrestling, of which Dudley was an avid fan of, and he almost felt sorry for the Hufflepuff players come the game next week.

Harry was glad he'd worn the extra wool sweater under his Quidditch robes, as well as the fingerless gloves that Hermione had knitted for him. His breath practically froze on his lips as he flew high above his teammates. The day was a bit overcast, with yet more storm clouds gathering to the north and east, but the sun seemed stubbornly determined to give as much light and warmth as it could in the time it had, and Harry briefly closed his eyes and turned his face gratefully towards it. The frigid wind whistled in his ears, suddenly giving his broom a mild shove, and the raven-haired teen brought his attention back to the task at hand. Far below him, he saw that Ginny and Dennis had managed to knock Angelina off of her broom, and she dangled one-handed from it for a moment before hoisting herself back on.

"Well done, you two!" her exuberant voice drifted up to Harry's ears. He smiled, and decided he'd given the snitch enough time to get itself good and "lost". He directed his broom down closer to his teammates, and squinted his eyes against the snow's glare as he searched for the elusive golden ball. As Harry drifted towards the goal opposite from the one Ron was protecting, he heard the whistle of a Bludger as it hurtled towards him. He turned to see the wicked ball speeding straight for his belly, and at the last second Harry dropped his broom into a sharp dive to avoid it. He heard Ginny shout, "Show off!", and he couldn't help but chuckle as he pulled out of the dive about three meters from the ground. Plenty of room, really.

The sunlight glinted off of a darting object fluttering a little above the Slytherin stands, and Harry urged his broom to speed towards the snitch. It led him a merry chase, darting back and forth between the spectator stands, but it just couldn't dodge his keen eyes.

Until, that is, Harry caught a glimpse of something large and dark hurtling along the ground towards him, and he pulled up just short of grasping the snitch, his stomach clenching in sudden anxiety. As a precaution, Harry quickly rose in the air, his broom hopefully carrying him out of the reach of the… of the …

Wolf. Not just any wolf, but a huge, black wolf with long shaggy fur that could easily carry Harry on its back. And as Harry looked closer at it, he noticed that its eyes were a deep sapphire blue.

The gigantic canine completely ignored the humans flying in the field, and instead chased the golden snitch, its tongue lolling out of its mouth in an obvious grin. With a tremendous surge of powerful haunches, the wolf soared into the air and snatched the tiny winged ball, twisted its body midair, and landed crouched on all fours with a loud "Grrrrruff!"

"Hey! Knock that off!" Ron shouted, and the wolf's head reared up, its ears twitching towards the loud noise. It cocked its head to the side inquiringly, and then gave a great sniff. The wolf's head swiveled around, and it regarded Harry for a moment before once again displaying a very canine grin. It crouched its front end down to the snow and suddenly opened its mouth, letting the struggling snitch go. Immediately the golden ball tried to zip away, and the wolf watched it for a few seconds before suddenly pouncing and once again and capturing the ball in its great mouth.

Harry couldn't help himself; he laughed. Wherever this animal came from, it was having the time of its life playing with the snitch! But as the wolf opened its mouth once more, Harry noticed that one of the wings was bent at a weird angle. The wolf made as if to pounce on the hapless enchanted orb again, and Harry called out, "Oy!"

The wolf paused, looking at the teen inquisitively. Harry directed his broom down towards the damaged snitch, and Angelina called out behind him, "Harry, don't! You don't know if that thing's safe!"

The wolf swung its gaze up to the team captain, and all Harry could say is that the look the animal shot at the girl was of pure disdain; as if it were saying, 'Why would I ever want to hurt this human?'. It plopped down onto the snow, obviously to show that it wasn't threatening, and Harry called over his shoulder, "It's okay, Angelina. I think it just wants to play!"

"Right, some great giant beastie comes out of nowhere and wants to play fetch?!" Ron bellowed in concern, but Harry had a strong feeling that he wasn't in any danger. He ignored his teammates' protests, and flew over to the snitch, carefully grasping it in his half-frozen fingers.

The wolf merely laid there on its side, its ears turned forward, watching him expectantly.

"Look, you need to not play with this," Harry explained as he displayed the snitch. "See? One of the wings is broken now."

The wolf's intense blue eyes widened a little, and all Harry could say is that it looked guilty. The great animal briefly lowered its head, and then looked up at him forlornly. Harry chuckled.

"If you want to play, that's fine, but we're trying to practice here," he said with an absentminded wave towards his teammates. "Why don't you go back to your friends and play with them?" he asked, on a hunch pointing to the Forbidden Forest.

The wolf looked where Harry was pointing, and dropped its head towards the ground before turning back to him with a sad look.

"What, no friends?" And he could have sworn it shook its head. "Well, maybe when we're done here…"

But he was interrupted by a loud scream.

"MISTER POTTER, WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Madam Hooch hollered, and spooked, the wolf leapt to its feet and sped off of the field towards the forest.

The Quidditch coach was furious with Harry, and shouted at him for a good ten minutes before hauling him into Professor McGonagall's office.

Now seated and thoroughly cowed, Harry watched as Madam Hooch explained what had happened to the Professor, whose mouth kept getting thinner and thinner, until Harry was certain that it was going to disappear entirely.

"Thank you, Rolanda," Professor McGonagall said once the flying instructor had finished. "I shall have a little talk with Potter right now about this." Madam Hooch nodded and left, muttering to herself that certain foolish students would one day take one risk too many and regret it.

Once the office door was closed, McGonagall turned and picked up a tin from her desk. She held it out towards Harry with a quiet "Have a biscuit, Potter." And Harry knew with that short sentence that he wasn't in trouble. Not really.

Harry took two cookies from the tin, and the Professor leaned against her desk with a small sigh.

"So, am I in trouble?" Harry asked after a few silent moments.

"No, Potter, it's not you I'm upset with," she replied. "I've told Miss MacCollum numerous times that she must keep away from the students when…"

"What?" Harry interrupted, his mind whirling with momentary confusion. "Do you mean to tell me that that wolf… was Gwen?"

Professor McGonagall shot him a silencing glare, which softened immediately. "Yes, it was," she replied heavily. She passed a hand over her face in an uncharacteristic gesture of weariness. "She was informed not to change into any creature while on school grounds, but she has proven to be quite stubborn at times."

"She came out from the forest," Harry helpfully pointed out, and the Professor snorted.

"She's also supposed to stay out of the forest," was the grim response. "That girl's going to get herself in serious trouble if she doesn't stop this."

"What kind of trouble?" Harry asked.

The professor fixed Harry with an assessing gaze for a few tense moments. "I think you should speak with the Headmaster about this," she said quietly. "Come, Potter." She gestured for Harry to follow her, and he walked behind his head of House to the statued entrance of the Headmaster's office.

Harry and McGonagall found the Headmaster in the middle of tea with Professor Snape.

Dumbledore smiled as the two entered his office, and the Potions Master's lip curled as if he'd scented a particularly strong piece of dung as Harry was waved to a comfy armchair in front of the Headmaster's desk.

"And to what do we owe the honor of a visit from the almighty Mister Potter?" Professor Snape sneered a little.

Professor McGonagall shot him a quelling glare and turned back to Dumbledore. "It seems that a rather large black wolf took it upon herself to play catch with the Gryffindor Quidditch team's snitch this morning," she said reprovingly as she displayed the tiny broken ball, but Harry detected the barest echo of amusement in the teacher's voice.

Snape's eyes widened. "She did what?!" He leaned forward in his chair a little as he automatically lowered his cup to the small coffee table in front of him.

But Professor Dumbledore merely chuckled. "I'm glad to see that's she's making herself at home here," he said mildly.

"Albus, she was seen coming from and running into the Forbidden Forest," McGonagall replied with a look of mild concern.

The Potions Master suddenly stood and moved towards the door. "I'll handle this, Headmaster…" he began, but hesitated with his hand on the doorknob when Dumbledore said, "No, Severus."

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Snape's voice had become quiet, as it did whenever he was clearly upset.

"What I mean is that I'd recently given young Gwendolyn permission to explore the outskirts of the forest," Dumbledore explained.

Harry frowned, and Snape went very still. "I assume you have a perfectly valid reason for her to take such a risk?" The greasy Potions Master's voice was carefully controlled.

"As a matter of fact, I do," the Headmaster replied with a hint of steel in his voice. "She cannot stay cooped up in this musty old castle all the time. I daresay you must have noticed her forays before this?"

"You mean other than at Christmas?" Snape almost snarled. "Yes, but I thought I'd settled that with her, and that she understood the need for caution."

"If there is one quality that Gwendolyn shares with Harry here," Dumbledore nodded to the nonplussed teen, "it would be the almost compulsive need to feel as if she were a free person. The last thing we would want now is to make the young lady feel like a prisoner here."

As mild as his tone was, the Headmaster was quite obviously delivering a rebuke to the Potions Master. As Snape flushed an odd shade of vermilion, Dumbledore spoke again. "I know you are only trying to protect her, Severus, but if you do not allow her some room to maneuver, she will grow to resent you. You of all people should know this."

Snape ducked his head behind his greasy mane of hair for a moment as he collected himself. "Yes, Headmaster, I do understand," came the harshly murmured reply. He suddenly raised glittering eyes to the others. "If you don't mind, sir, I have quite a lot of work to do today."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, and without further ado, Snape gathered his robes about him and swept from the room.

"Well, that went rather well," Dumbledore remarked to the room in general, and several of the paintings chuckled.

"Professor," Harry spoke up, and the elderly wizard nodded for him to continue. "How is it that Gwen can change into a wolf? Is she an Animagus?"

The two Professors exchanged weighted glances. "What we are about to tell you must stay between us, is that understood Mister Potter?" Professor McGonagall said sternly, and Harry nodded. With a pointed look at the Headmaster, the Transfigurations professor continued. "Miss MacCollum is in fact a metamorphmagus."

"Really?" Harry's eyebrows rose. "I thought they were extremely rare."

"They are," Dumbledore answered. "Which is why that, combined with the fact that Gwendolyn can also speak any language, makes her quite a special person. As rare as metamorphmagi are, only once every five centuries or so is that ability combined with the capacity for speaking any and all languages."

Harry frowned as he thought. "So," he said after a few silent minutes, "that could make her very dangerous."

"Yes, and lends a little light as to why Voldemort would want her on his side," Dumbledore replied gravely.

Harry's head shot up at that statement. "You think that Voldemort was trying to turn Gwen?"

"I can only speculate, Harry," was the response.

"Well, his methods leave a lot to be desired then," Harry said wryly, and Professor McGonagall couldn't repress a snort of laughter.

"Albus, are you sure Miss MacCollum should be wandering in the forest alone?" the Transfigurations professor asked after a moment.

Dumbledore smiled. "She is quite a resourceful woman, and an adult, Minerva," he replied. "And I meant what I said to Severus: the last thing that young Gwendolyn needs is to feel like a prisoner in a place where she should feel safe."

"And what shall we do about her little performance at the Quidditch pitch this morning?" McGonagall asked with a raised eyebrow.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I daresay that we have enough creatures in the forest that would wander out from time to time," he said. "But I shall make sure to impress upon her the importance of keeping her ability to shape-change quiet."

Harry was looking out the window as the adults talked, and he spoke up. "Professor, if you don't mind, practice is almost over…"

"Ah, yes, we wouldn't want you to miss out on any important practice time," Dumbledore replied with amusement, and Harry stood to leave.

"And Potter," Professor McGonagall called after him, and Harry paused by the office door. "In order to keep up appearances, I shall need to give you two night's detention and deduct five points for interacting with an… 'unknown' creature from the forest."

Harry grimaced, and the normally stern Transfigurations professor smiled a little. "Not to worry; you shall be spending it with me. I daresay you could use some extra coaching with your Apparating and Transfiguring."

"Oh, joy," Harry muttered to himself, and nodded to the professors before leaving the office.


	15. This, That, and the Other

**Chapter 15 – This, That, and The Other**

Since the students couldn't learn how to Apparate on the school grounds, something which Hermione had finally drummed into her two best friend's heads after all these years, they had to travel to Hogsmeade every other Wednesday right after lunch. And since Harry's safety was quite endangered since the confirmation of Voldemort's return the previous June, he was not allowed to go with the rest of his class.

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had explained that it would compromise the safety of everyone, while leaving too few adults to protect them should Death Eaters or even the feared Dark Lord himself decide to make an attempt on Harry's life at the wizarding village. So on staggered Sundays Harry would journey alone to the edge of Hogsmeade with Professor McGonagall for his Apparating lessons.

But for his first night of detention, he and the Professor were accompanied by Charles Evanston and Trinidad Lozada, the two Aurors Harry had met the day of the Death Eater's trial. It turned out that Trinidad was experienced in rescuing unfortunate wizards and witches who managed to 'splinch' themselves while Apparating, and Professor McGonagall had explained earlier to Harry that Charles was indeed a member of the Order.

The weather had taken an unusually warm turn the past few days, so Professor McGonagall had asked Hagrid to hitch two of the thestrals up to a coach so they wouldn't have to walk through all of the slush and boggy mud. The aging Transfigurations Professor was still favoring her leg, injured last year when she had been struck down by no less than four Stunning Spells trying to protect Hagrid from Dolores Umbridge and her Auror guards when they attacked him in the middle of the night.

The professor had just seated herself when Harry spied a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, accompanied by the harsh sound of metal clashing against metal. He paused with one foot on the step of the carriage, with Charles and Trinidad behind him.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Charles asked quietly, but Trinidad had whipped her head around at the sound and already had her wand in hand.

The sounds grew nearer, and Professor McGonagall grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him inside as Charles spun and put his back to the carriage in order to have a better field of vision.

Not fifteen meters away, two forms lurched over the rise of a hill, the swords held in both sets of hands catching the light cast from the windows of the castle and reflecting it back in quick flashes as they danced through the air in an intricate pattern. The taller figure pressed the smaller one backwards for a few yards, until the retreating person's sword was struck away with a stifled curse.

Trinidad and Charles remained where they were, and both murmured "Lumos." Their raised wand tips flared into bright life, revealing the two battling persons.

Professor McGonagall suddenly cried out from inside the carriage, making Harry jump at her side. "PROFESSOR SNAPE, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"

The taller figure dropped the point of his sword towards the ground, chest heaving from his exertions. He shaded his eyes a little as he looked towards the carriage and the two Aurors protecting it. The person he had just been battling turned to reveal that it was none other than Gwendolyn, strands of her hair plastered to her face and neck with sweat. Her knitted duster was nowhere to be seen, revealing that she was only wearing a black T-shirt with matching cut-off shorts and bare muddy feet.

"Professor McGonagall," Snape bowed his head slightly in greeting, not quite managing his trademark sneer. "I wasn't aware you were leaving the grounds at this time of night. Is that wise?"

The professor stepped out of the carriage and approached the weary pair with a look of great disapproval on her face. "Potter has two nights of detention with me," she explained tersely. "We have taken the necessary precautions," she indicated the two Aurors with a slight nod of her head. "I should ask the same of you," she continued.

Gwendolyn bent over to massage her calves as Snape replied. "As we are not leaving school grounds, I felt it unnecessary to request a formal guard," he explained smoothly. "Miss MacCollum needed a proper sparring partner to complete her recuperation."

"Don't you think it a bit… inappropriate… 'sparring' at this time of night?"

Snape, looking quite strange to Harry wearing not his standard black robes but rather loose-fitting black pants, a black button-up silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up, boots and his greasy hair tied back in a ponytail of all things, wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. "Do you really think it would be wise for us to practice this particular sport in front of schoolchildren, Minerva?" he shot back a bit shortly. "Next thing you know they would be clamoring for lessons, and then poor Madame Pomfrey would be piecing students back together again with a needle and thread."

From behind him, Harry heard Charles chuckling. "Only if you were their teacher, Severus," the Auror murmured.

"As you well know, Severus," McGonagall retorted primly, "we have places all around the castle that are appropriate for this kind of… thing. What I was referring to was the dangers of being out after dark these days."

"I am well aware of the dangers, Professor," Snape said haughtily. "And I of all people would not endanger Miss MacCollum."

Gwendolyn stood with a strange look on her face. "I am standing right here, you know," she said. In the light of Charles and Trinidad's wands, the scars on the young Canadian's arms stood out lividly, and her blue eyes sparkled with what Harry could only assume was irritation.

McGonagall nodded curtly at the young woman before continuing her harangue of Snape. "Nevertheless, you can only protect her so much."

"Yes," Snape retorted. "Which is why I am assisting Miss MacCollum in getting back to fit shape."

"Outdoors?" Professor McGonagall lifted a sardonic eyebrow.

"Yes, outdoors!" Gwendolyn snapped, and all eyes turned to her. "I cannot be kept inside forever, Professor, and I would appreciate it if you would cease your misguided attempts to protect me!" Her eyes narrowed into blazing slits, and she crouched slightly as if to run.

"Gwendolyn!" Snape said curtly, and the young woman swung her head to fix him with her frigid gaze. He dialed back his commanding demeanor and softly added, "Please, let me handle this."

"You still don't understand, do you Severus?" Gwendolyn returned, more quietly now, but still highly agitated. She opened her mouth again to speak, but seemed to decide against it, then straightened and turned away, picking up her fallen sword.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Charles and Trinidad murmuring to each other quietly as they leaned against the carriage, completely at ease now. He turned his attention back to his friend and the greasy Potions Master, and noticed that Snape was watching Gwendolyn with a slight blush of color high on his cheeks. The slight woman sheathed her sword in a harness slung across her back and turned back to the small group of people.

She smiled a little at Harry, who was still sitting in the carriage. "Evening, Harry," she said, and began to jog towards the Forest. Everyone watched, speechless, as she came even with the edge of the trees, and turned to run along the edge. Her pace smoothed out for a long distance run, as if she were going to have a nice long jog around the school grounds, which Harry suspected was exactly what she was doing.

"Well, I believe that my services are no longer required," Snape said to no one in particular before striding towards the carriage and looking inside. "Try not to lose any parts of yourself, Potter," he sneered before turning and making his way towards the castle.

**…………**

The other night of Harry's detention passed uneventfully, and he was quite embarrassed when Professor McGonagall complimented him for not splinching himself more than once. He promised himself that from then on, every time he went out for a Hogsmeade weekend he'd ask Ron and Hermione to spot him as he practiced, to make sure he was keeping up with his classmates.

Harry of course told his best friends what he'd witnessed on his first night of detention, and they shook their heads.

"Why would Gwen want to fight Snape with a sword?" Ron asked from his chair by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. "That's so old-fashioned, it's ridiculous."

"Oh, Ron, really," Hermione retorted, closing her parchment of astronomy homework. "It is a good idea to know how to defend yourself in ways other than with magic. I mean, think about it: Gwen didn't really know anything about magic when the Death Eaters attacked her family, so knowing non-magical ways of defending yourself is quite practical."

"Maybe, but why don't they teach it here at school then?" Ron waved a hand.

"I have a feeling they will soon enough," Harry replied quietly. At his friend's questioning looks, he elaborated. "I overheard Charles and Professor McGonagall discussing whether it'd be a good idea to start the Dueling Club again."

"Well, that's pretty much what the D.A. is, isn't it?" Ron said, and Hermione nodded.

"Yes, but look at how often we've been able to meet this year, Ron," she said matter-of-factly.

While the D.A. was still technically active, due to the increased work load this year Harry and his classmates had only been able to meet twice so far; and since the D.A.D.A. class was once again actually teaching them the proper subject matter, Harry just didn't know what to do with the not-so secret club any more.

"Maybe we should say something to Professor Dumbledore about it," Hermione suggested.

Harry nodded. "That's not a bad idea, 'Mione. I'll do it after class tomorrow."

**…………**

As it turned out, the Headmaster loved the idea, and admitted to the three students that he'd been thinking along the same lines.

"Considering the state of the world right now, I feel that all wizards should know how to defend themselves… with or without magic," he stated solemnly. "And I do believe I know just the people for the task."

Harry groaned inwardly as he thought back to his first night of detention with Professor McGonagall. He just knew that Snape would be involved somehow.

Little did he know how vehemently the Potions Master would protest the idea.

As well as Gwen.

**…………**

"ARE YOU MAD?!"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in front of his nose as he looked over half-moon spectacles at the young woman. "Some would say so, but no, I am perfectly within my right mind, the last I checked."

Gwendolyn began pacing back and forth in front of the Headmaster's fireplace in his office. Professor Snape stood to the side of the door to the room, his expression thunderous as he glared at Harry.

"I can only assume that this idiotic idea was Potter's?" he growled.

"Actually no, I had nothing to do with this, Professor," Harry replied coldly. "I merely asked Professor Dumbledore if we were going to start up the Dueling Club again."

Gwendolyn didn't seem to hear what the others were talking about as she whirled around and strode up to Dumbledore's desk. She planted both hands flat on the edge and leaned down to glare at him eye-level. "Just because I was a teacher doesn't mean that I have the… the qualifications, or the desire to do so again, Monsiuer."

Harry blinked. Gwen was a teacher?

"Yes, but of all of the adults here at the school, you and Severus are the most qualified to teach this class," Dumbledore replied quietly. "Which is why I am offering you the position, Miss MacCollum. Professor Snape would merely assist you, as he has quite enough responsibility on his shoulders as it is."

Gwendolyn froze, her mouth opening slightly. The anger drained from her posture and expression, and she backed away from the desk, scrubbing a hand across her face. "Oui, that he does," she murmured as she cast a sad look at the Potions Master.

Harry frowned. What _was_ it between these two?

Snape looked back at Gwendolyn with a very strange expression before he noticed Harry's sober regard, and his mask of indifference slipped back down. "I'll say this again, Headmaster: with the way these students perform in my class, I fear for Madame Pomfrey's well-being. She'll need quite a few assistants to help her sew all of them back together properly." He hesitated as Gwendolyn shot him an arched eyebrow. "Not due to of any lack of teaching skills on Miss MacCollum's behalf, but merely to the fact that these… children," he sneered, "are complete dolts."

Gwendolyn half-smiled. "I think I'd be able to keep the injuries to a minimum, Severus. Especially with your… help."

"Charles Evanston also has an extensive background in weapons training, Headmaster," Snape said quietly. "I would ask that he assist as well, to help defray the time commitment between Miss MacCollum and myself."

"Already done," Dumbledore nodded, and then directed his attention back to Gwendolyn. "So does that mean you'll accept the position?" he asked, looking for all the world like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"Oui, sir, I will." Gwendolyn regarded the Headmaster soberly for a moment. "And somehow I think you would have managed to get a yes out of me no matter what," she commented wryly.

Dumbledore merely twinkled back at her before ending the meeting with the suggestion that Harry notify his fellow D.A.D.A students that they would no longer require secret meetings.


	16. Attack on Hogsmeade

**Chapter 16 – Attack on Hogsmeade**

Within a week the new Dueling Club was meeting once a week for each class year, including even the first and second years. When the Headmaster announced this at breakfast the Monday following the meeting with Harry, Gwendolyn and Snape, there was mixed response from the students. From the Slytherin table, Harry heard Malfoy and his cronies laughing outright and loudly exclaiming the very same thing that Professor Snape had expressed concern over: that certain students would have to literally be sewed back together.

"Putting a sword in the hands of fools like Longbottom and Weasley is just asking for trouble," Malfoy sneered. "They'd trip and impale themselves before they could even learn to parry!" And his friends roared along with him, casting superior smirks in the direction of the Gryffindors' table.

Neville just shook his head with a small smile playing around his mouth. When Harry looked at him questioningly, the stocky young man confided, "I saw him practicing with Professor Snape a few months ago in one of the empty classrooms by the dungeon. He has absolutely nothing to brag about." He and Harry chuckled as they imagined Malfoy tripping over his own two feet and falling on his face.

Since there was no way to coordinate the weapons' practices without radically changing students', and teachers', schedules, Professor Snape and Charles Evanston agreed to rotate their teaching duties for the class. Although, since Gwendolyn had nothing else to do at the school, having been switched to advanced studies with Professor Dumbledore, she attended and supervised all of them.

Harry actually enjoyed learning about non-magical ways of defending himself. He found that he was quite good at throwing knives, and had even managed to once knock Malfoy's perfectly centered knife off of the target. But before they even touched anything sharp, Gwendolyn insisted that all of the students learn footwork first.

"This is the way I was taught in fencing class," she explained. "If you're going to learn sword-play, then you also need to know where your feet are at all times. I know this is especially difficult for teenage boys, as you're all having those lovely growth spurts and increasingly large feet." She threw a small knowing smile at Neville, Ron and Dean Thomas, all whom were experiencing the pitfalls, literally and figuratively, of sudden increases in their height. Their centers of gravity were therefore thrown out of whack, making it quite hard for them to execute some of the more precise maneuvers Gwendolyn, Charles, and Professor Snape were teaching.

But Gwendolyn and Charles were very understanding, and even took time to show the gangling awkward teens ways of regaining their sense of center with certain exercises they had to practice every evening after dinner. Although it made for many a frayed temper when everyone was practicing running backwards up the stairs in their respective Houses, and finally the Heads of all the Houses decreed that no fencing exercises would be performed in the towers.

Within weeks all of the students were managing to complete the steps and footwork they were being taught, and even Professor Snape grudgingly admitted that they weren't hopeless cases. Completely.

**…………**

Before they all knew it, another Hogsmeade weekend had arrived, and Harry and his friends were grateful for the respite. Even though spring had finally sprung, it seemed that winter was fighting tooth and nail to keep its weakening grip on the land. The evenings and early mornings were still crisp and cold, and on most mornings the lake beside the castle had a slim sheen of ice on it.

"So where do you want to go first, Harry?" Hermione asked, her cheeks pink from the lingering morning chill. The three friends, arm in arm with Hermione in the middle, were just entering the wizarding town with their classmates, and had the whole day to look forward to.

"Hmmmm… want to see if Fred and George have found a site for their shop here, Ron?" Harry glanced over at his best friend, who was eyeing up Honeydukes' large sign with a greedy glint in his eye.

"Hm, what? Oh yeah, yeah, last I heard, they were looking at some space a street over from Zonko's," the red-head replied absently, wrenching his attention away from the distinctive allure of sweets. No matter how much food Ron ate, he always managed to find some room to satisfy his incessant sweet tooth. Harry and Hermione had secretly bet a long time ago that their friend would someday overindulge in the candy department, and would turn himself off to sweets completely. The bet was on what exactly would tip Ron over the edge.

They trudged up towards the closest cross street, but Harry caught a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye as they passed the alley beside Madame Rosmerta's Hog's Head tavern. He stopped in his tracks, while Hermione and Ron continued on, unaware of their friend's distraction.

Harry saw another flutter, and he squinted against the mid-morning sun trying to make out details. He stepped into the alley and shaded his eyes.

His eyes focused after a few seconds, and he realized that he was looking at a very large and shaggy dog. His stomach twisted and clenched into an icy ball.

"Sirius?" he whispered around the sudden lump in his throat. He stepped into the alley a little more.

"Harry?" Ron called out. He and Hermione had just noticed that Harry wasn't with them, and they'd turned around to look for him in the street.

The canine cocked its head to one side, and started trotting towards Harry with its tail wagging. He began walking towards it, farther away from the main street, and suddenly the dog stopped and began to growl. Its ears flattened against its skull as it bared its teeth.

Harry froze, and suddenly realized that this was definitely not Sirius.

The dog was a wolf.

And it had sapphire eyes flecked with gray.

Behind him, Harry heard Hermione join Ron. "Harry?! Where are you?"

"Ron. Hermione, over here," Harry answered over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the obviously agitated wolf, and he heard his friends' footsteps clatter towards the alley entrance. "Gwen? What are you doing here?"

Upon hearing her name, the giant wolf's ears perked up a little, only to once again flatten against her head as she looked over Harry's shoulder towards the alley's entrance.

Harry turned, and his eyes widened when the telltale "crack" and outwards whoosh of air signaled the arrival of four black-robed figures.

Death Eaters.

Harry shouted in alarm, but before he could whip his wand out of his coat, a red jet of light flew from one of the Death Eater's wands and hit him squarely in the chest.

"NO! THE DARK LORD WANTS HIM ALIVE!" one of the masked figures shouted.

He heard Ron and Hermione cry out as he was thrown backwards, and he felt warm fur brush over his face as wolf Gwendolyn leapt over him right at the advancing Death Eaters. Harry crashed into a pile of garbage, his head smacking against the ground and effectively driving the consciousness from his body.

**…………**

A few minutes passed, and Harry came to, lying spread-eagled on the damp stones of the alley. He shook his head groggily. What happened?

Metal clashing against stone jolted his memory, and Harry realized that there was a small battle going on only a few meters away. He raised his head against the sudden agonizing pain in his chest to see Gwendolyn, wounded and now in human form, cutting one of two Death Eaters' wands in half with a long hunting knife. To the brunette's right was another Death Eater's body lying in a pool of its own blood. The fourth Death Eater was sprawled unconscious near the entrance to the alley, with an enraged and yet terrified Ron standing over him, wand in hand. Hermione half-crouched next to Ron, looking for all the world like a terrified deer, just barely keeping herself from bolting past the three battling adults to get to and protect her wounded friend. She was aiming a small crossbow at the battling group, but not firing for fear she'd hit Gwendolyn.

Suddenly Ron screamed, "Gwen, DUCK!" and the young woman tripped as she dropped to one knee. Ron shot a Stunning spell at the now wandless Death Eater just as Hermione let a bolt fly out from her crossbow, but the other fired off his own spell back at the teenager as his compatriot fell to the ground over Gwendolyn's back.

Harry watched speechless as Ron grabbed Hermione and shoved her down, and the deadly spell hit the flame-haired teen on his left shoulder, spinning him around as he fell.

Gwendolyn growled murderously, and shot out of her crouch at the remaining Death Eater. But just before she reached him, her foot slipped on the pool of blood from the one she'd stabbed with the wicked blade she still held in her left hand. The Death Eater took advantage of the momentary opening, and delivered a roundhouse punch directly in Gwendolyn's face. The young woman fell like a pole-axed steer, and the Death Eater whirled around to survey the alley.

The still-cloaked figure spied Harry struggling to sit up, and advanced on the teen menacingly.

"And now I finally get to finish the job," he growled as he pointed his wand at Harry's head. "You should've died when you fell off your broom, Potter. _Avada_…"

Harry's mind shut down in panic. This was it. No one was left to protect him, he was too wounded to save himself, and he was going to die like a hunted animal in this alley. His thoughts strangely turned to Sirius, his beloved god-father and friend, and he remembered the moment he'd found out that Sirius Black was innocent after all those years he'd spent rotting in Azkaban.

Sirius' gaunt face floated up to the forefront of Harry's mind, and he saw the ruined bedroom in the Shrieking Shack. Oh, how he wished he were back there right now!

Unnoticed, Hermione had raised herself up to her knees, and cried out "REDUCTO!" just as Gwendolyn kicked out a foot to trip the Death Eater.

Too late, Harry's mind murmured as he saw that all-too-familiar bolt of sickly green light shoot straight for his head. His stomach twisted and dropped as he thought about finally getting to see Sirius again, and everything went dark.

………

Consciousness swam back into focus, and Harry's eyes snapped open. He fought to suck a breath into his lungs, but it felt like Hagrid was sitting on his chest. After a few increasingly panicked moments, Harry managed to breathe, and quickly succumbed to a fit of coughing that left him weak, trembling and tasting blood in his mouth. He felt like he was looking down a long tunnel all grayed around the edges, with giant black sparks dancing across his reduced field of vision.

He tried to get up, but his head swam nauseously, so he sank back down to the floor.

Harry looked around himself, wondering why the hell he wasn't dead. And that's when he realized that he was in the main bedroom of the Shrieking Shack.

But it didn't look the same as the last time he'd been there.

Gone was all of the dusty, grimy furniture. The wood floor was clean, and the four-poster bed was neatly made with white sheets and a homemade patchwork quilt made with soft shades of green, blue, brown and black. The rest of the room was sparsely decorated, with coal oil lanterns hung on the walls, and unlit candles practically covering the top of the desk and chest of drawers. And there were words scrawled all across the walls, words that his swimming vision couldn't make out at the moment.

Harry managed to roll over onto his side, and looked down at his chest.

It was far from pretty. His clothes were burnt away from where the spell had blasted into him, and the skin underneath was scorched. In a couple of places Harry thought he could see bone peeking through the blackened skin, and his stomach suddenly rebelled. He gagged before his eyes rolled back in his head.

Some time later Harry woke again. He wasn't sure when, because sunlight wasn't shining through the slats of the boarded-up windows any more. He tried to pull himself towards the door of the bedroom, and after a few false starts barely managed to get to his hands and knees through the agony coursing in his veins. He felt like he was on fire from the inside out, and absently wondered if this was what it truly felt like to be hit with a direct blast of dragon fire. When he'd faced down that dragon in his fourth year, Harry had only been grazed by the claws of the furious beast that was only trying to protect her eggs, but he'd managed to not get hit with the flames she'd also been letting loose. Unbidden, a lesson from his D.A.D.A. class rose in his mind, detailing what happened to victims of dragon fire. If the initial blast didn't kill them, then the residual poison left from the flames would. There was little that could be done for the victim of a dragon's wrath after twelve hours, and Harry had a sick feeling he was toeing a little too close to that cutoff time.

Harry forced himself to crawl towards the bedroom door. He was only a meter or so from it when he thought he heard rustling footsteps downstairs.

'_I must be hallucinating,'_ he thought. _'No one would know I'm here.'_

But what if Ron, Hermione and the others were looking for Harry here? Obviously this house was in use again… maybe they would think to look here, since the Shrieking Shack was on the edge of Hogsmeade?

Harry opened his mouth to call out, but then he suddenly snapped it shut.

Maybe his friends were looking for him, but what about the Death Eaters? _'It could just as easily be them too,'_ his mind whispered.

Ridiculous. The Death Eaters wouldn't know that Harry would be here. They also didn't know he'd ever been in the Shrieking Shack before, and there was no reason for them to suspect that he'd be there now.

"Hey, up here!" he called out, but was dismayed when only a faint whisper issued from his lips. What was wrong with him? Couldn't he even call out where he was?! Was he really that weak?!

He shook his head. There was no need to berate himself; it didn't help matters one bit.

But wait a minute…

The mirror.

Harry allowed his violently shaking arms and legs to relax, dropping him back down to the floor. He managed to push himself onto his back, and he weakly rummaged through his clothes for the magic mirror that Dumbledore had fixed for his birthday. He'd heeded the Headmaster's sage advice given during the Christmas holiday, and had been carrying the mirror with him ever since.

The panic began to rise within as he vainly searched for the mirror. He could feel the strength rapidly draining from his body, and Harry knew he didn't have much time left before he passed out again. This time, it could be for good.

'_Just my luck, it would fall out of my pocket during the fight,'_ he grumbled mentally. But then Harry's fingers closed around the cool metal frame of the mirror, and he thanked whatever beings were out there as he raised the trembling mirror to his face.

"Dumbledore," he grated out, but his voice was still barely even a whisper.

No, that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. For all Harry knew, the Professor had the other mirror tucked in his robes, and wouldn't hear the rasping voice of one of his students coming from it.

Harry gathered what little was left of his rapidly waning strength, and cleared his throat before trying again. "Dumbledore!" There, that was much better, wasn't it?

Abruptly, Professor Dumbledore's face swam into Harry's sight, and the teen felt relief wash over him. The mirror slipped in his grasp, but he managed to keep it in his now numb fingers, clinging to it with all of his will.

"Harry? Harry, where are you?" Dumbledore's beyond worried voice thundered at him.

"Pr'fesser," he murmured. "Shrieking… Shack. Ap… p'rated… upstairs… bedr…"

But finishing the thought was too much for him, and Harry plummeted into the welcoming arms of darkness.


	17. Show Thyself

**Chapter 17 – Show Thyself**

Something was tickling Harry's nose.

Ever so slowly, his senses returned to him. The first and least welcome was pain. Muted flames licked at Harry's chest from the inside out, thankfully not as intense as they were in the Shrieking Shack.

The next thing he felt was a pressure on his right arm, and he tried to move it. No such luck. _'Okay, what next?'_ Harry asked himself.

Sound. Someone was snoring softly to Harry's right, while another quietly walked through the room past his feet.

Okay, next would have to be sight. Harry was wondering where the hell he was now, and he knew that he'd have to face whatever it was eventually. Might as well get it over with.

His eyelids felt as heavy as concrete pylons, and about as easy to move, but Harry didn't let up. After what seemed like many minutes to him, he finally managed to pry one eye open.

As he had done so many times before, he stared out at the candlelit darkness of the school's infirmary.

'_Um, I think,_' he thought in confusion. There was something right in front of Harry's face, and whatever it was was the source of the nose tickling. Harry blinked, and both eyes were finally able to open and blearily focus on the soft furry head of Gwendolyn's cat Azrael. It was the cat leaning on his arm so that she could sniff at his face while not putting pressure on his wounded chest.

"Mph," Harry grunted, and he heard someone stir off to his right.

He was a little startled, but then he remembered that he'd just heard someone snoring there.

"Milady Azrael, vous obtenez de de lui cet instant," Gwendolyn's weary voice quietly commanded, and the giant cat gave one last perfunctory sniff before pulling back and curling up by Harry's side.

Gwendolyn slowly rose and leaned over the bed with a relieved smile. "You're one hell of a fighter, Harry," she said in the same quiet voice. "You were hit with a nasty one."

"Wha…" he grated out before he realized that his throat was raw and dry.

"Attendre un moment." And the young woman brought a cup with a straw in it to his mouth.

Harry gratefully swallowed some of the cool water before trying to speak once again. "Wha' time… is it?" He was still whispering, but at least he could talk and be understood now.

"It's almost midnight," Gwendolyn answered. "You've been unconscious for over a week."

Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't been out like that for a long time; not even with his concussion at the beginning of the year!

"Ron… 'Mione…"

"They're recovering just fine. Ron's shoulder is still bothering him, but he'll hopefully get the full use back, in time," she assured him.

"You?"

She smiled, a genuine smile for once. "I'm fine, Harry. Some cuts and bruises; nothing a nice hot bath and a good nights' sleep couldn't cure."

Harry grinned back at her for a moment. "Guess now… I know… what… 'Mione's… present was."

Gwendolyn's expression blanked for a moment before she understood what he was referring to. Her eyes twinkled. "It was shrunken to fit onto a necklace she wore under her clothes. All she has to do is enlarge it to its normal size, and it's ready to go."

Another question popped into his head. "Who?"

Gwendolyn's expression turned stony. "Two of them got away, but the others…" Here she flashed a quick, murderous grin. "One was killed, and the other captured. He's in that wizard prison."

"Az… Azkaban?" Harry stuttered, and the woman nodded. "Who… is he?"

"A student here. Some gorilla named Vincent Crabbe."

"What?!" Harry's voice raised considerably at the news, and he heard multiple pairs of footsteps clatter towards his bed.

"Miss MacCollum, what is the meaning of…" Madame Pomfrey hissed as she rounded the privacy curtain, with Professor Dumbledore and Tonks of all people trailing in her wake, but at the sight of Harry awake and alert, she uttered a small cry. "Mister Potter! How long have you been awake?"

Harry snorted a little. Only the school's mediwitch could make a person feel guilty for waking up without her knowledge… or permission. "Just woke up," he murmured.

"I'm sorry, Madame," Gwendolyn apologized. "Milady only just alerted me."

"And what in heaven's name are you doing out of bed, young lady?!" Madame Pomfrey snapped, and it was then that Harry noticed that the dark-haired woman had bandages wrapping her entire right arm and shoulder, with the arm in a sling. She had a black spaghetti strap tank top on with a comfy pair of green flannel pajama bottoms, and Harry absently wondered if she had on fuzzy bunny slippers too.

"You're making this quite a habit, Harry," Dumbledore greeted the young man with a wide smile.

"Not like… I try," Harry replied sarcastically, and both Tonks and Gwendolyn snorted. "Tonks…" Harry trailed off, his throat once again too dry to allow speech.

The young Auror nodded as if she knew what he was trying to ask. "I've been helping Gwen develop her abilities as a metamorphmagus," she said. "We were in Hogsmeade practicing."

"Well, that too," Gwendolyn admitted a mite sheepishly. At Harry's quirked eyebrow, she elaborated. "I didn't feel right with you, Ron and Hermione going to the village virtually unguarded. I wanted to keep an eye on you myself."

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes as the young witch helped him to another drink of water. "'m not… completely… helpless… y'know," he murmured with a trace of asperity in his raspy voice.

Tonks chuckled. "No, but since you have this tendency to attract trouble, I agreed with Gwen in that you could use someone to watch your backs. So we just killed two birds with one stone… so to speak."

Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat imperiously. "It is very late, and I have a certain pair of patients who need their rest," she stated firmly, with a weighted glare at both Gwendolyn and Harry.

Both patients rolled their eyes at the same time, eliciting an amused chuckle from Dumbledore. He waved Gwendolyn over to her bed as he patted Harry on the hand. "Madame Pomfrey is correct: you both should be sleeping. I shall be back in the morning to talk with you, Harry," he said kindly.

The Headmaster nodded to everyone and sedately left the Hospital wing, as Tonks also bade them good night and limped over to a chair by the door. It looked to Harry as if she were on guard duty. _'Oh goody,_' he thought caustically. _'There goes any semblance of normality here at school.'_ He dejectedly swallowed the vile tasting potions that the mediwitch insisted he drink, and couldn't suppress a yelp of pain when she changed the bandages on his chest.

After that was all finished, Harry glanced over to his right, and saw that Gwendolyn had just finished taking some potions of her own under the watchful eyes of the mediwitch. She then curled up around a pillow on her left side, facing him, with her injured arm resting on another. A purring Azrael perched by her head as the young woman smiled wearily at Harry.

He had a question nagging at him. "Gwen," he started softly. She moved her head a little so she could look him in the eye questioningly. "Why did you think we'd need to be guarded in Hogsmeade?"

Her expression clouded. "A… feeling I had," was her short reply.

"That's it? A feeling?"

She licked her lips nervously. "I don't think I can quite explain it. It just felt like… there was… danger coming."

Harry just watched her, knowing that she was holding something back. If he'd felt any stronger, he would've argued. But he knew that now wasn't the time to try to drag the information out of her.

"I'm glad you will be all right," she said softly before closing her eyes.

"Night, Gwen," Harry replied just as quietly, so as not to incur the wrath of Madame Pomfrey. He laid there for quite a few minutes, watching her as she drifted off to sleep.

Harry felt very strange, watching this odd refugee sleep seemingly so peacefully. _'I wonder if she's going to have any nightmares tonight,'_ he wondered, and realized that what he was feeling was protectiveness towards her. Like him, Gwendolyn had suffered much at the hands of Voldemort and his followers, and he thought of how much he wanted to spare anyone else from that. _'How many others have watched their families die? How many more will before this is all over?'_

Harry knew that things were going from bad to worse in the world, and that numerous people had yet to die because of the Dark Lord. He felt the desperate, helpless fury once again rising to choke him, and Harry resolved to do whatever he could to stop Voldemort once and for all.

'_And if that means killing him, then so be it.'_

With that bitter resolution, he felt the effects of his own sleeping draught wash over him, and Harry gratefully dropped off into slumber.

It turned out that it had been Vincent Crabbe who had shot Harry with a Dragonfire Spell in the Hogsmeade alley, and who had also tried to use the Killing Curse on him. With all of the reputable witnesses' testimonies, everyone except for Tonks having given theirs in the safety of Hogwarts, Crabbe was sentenced as an adult to a life sentence in Azkaban only a couple of weeks after the attack in Hogsmeade. Minister Fudge and Dumbledore had both agreed that it was just too dangerous for Harry and his friends to venture off of school grounds without a hefty and powerful escort.

Unfortunately, that also included Gwendolyn, and her training visits to Hogsmeade with Tonks were suspended indefinitely.

"Don't worry, Gwen," the young Auror said in response to her friend's frustration. "We have plenty of room here on the school's grounds to practice, and more than enough people to work with."

But Gwendolyn shook her head vehemently. "That isn't my problem, Dora. It's the fact that I'm a prisoner in here, even if it's for my own good. I feel like I'm trying to hide in plain sight!"

Gwendolyn stood and restlessly paced between her and Harry's beds in the Infirmary. It was their last day in there before Madame Pomfrey would discharge them, as Gwendolyn refused to leave Harry out of her sight even after she was released from the mediwitches' care. She was displaying aggressive protective instincts, which, although Harry felt quite touched about it, also peeved him somewhat… as if the young woman didn't trust him to stay safe without her there.

"'Dora'?" Harry tilted his head to the side questioningly, and Tonks lightly blushed.

"Gwen hates calling me Tonks," the metamorphmagus replied as she tugged a lock of puce-colored hair back into place at her temple. "So she came up with this, and actually, I don't really hate it."

Harry choked down the chuckle trying to bubble up from his gut, and Tonks glared at him as if reading his thoughts. "And no, I don't want anyone else to call me that," she almost snapped. "I can tolerate it from Gwen, and maybe you, but… No. One. Else. Got it?"

"Got it," Harry couldn't hide the grin in his voice. Then he glanced over at Gwendolyn, and he instantly sobered. She was standing by one of the open windows, hungrily watching students enjoying their sunny Saturday afternoon in the mild spring weather. "I know how you feel," he said quietly.

Gwendolyn's back stiffened as she continued to look out at the grounds. "Do you?" she replied harshly.

"Yes, I do."

She bent her head and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I just hate this… feeling like a fish in a barrel."

"Me too, Gwen."

"But you're safe here…" Tonks began, and Gwendolyn shook her head tersely, dark unbound hair drifting across her shoulders.

"And only here. Have you ever been under 'protective custody', Dora?" She didn't wait for an answer as she turned and leaned back into the wall as she unconsciously rubbed at her mostly healed arm. She had also been burned with the same Dragonfire Spell that Crabbe had shot Harry with. "You have absolutely no privacy; and you're constantly worrying when the next time will come when someone is going to try to kill you. You feel…"

"Trapped," Harry finished for her, and Gwendolyn nodded. "Helpless," he continued darkly. "As if no one trusts you to be able to handle yourself when something bad happens. Everyone treats you like you're bloody fragile, as if their precious weapon would break with the slightest touch."

Tonks blinked in surprise. "Harry, that's not what we think about you."

"Isn't it?" He glared down at the floor from where he was sitting on the side of his bed. "I'm the only one who can kill Voldemort, remember? At least that's what the damned prophesy said." Feeling just as restless as Gwendolyn, he stood and began to pace in the main aisle between the beds, running fingers through his perpetually tousled hair.

"You're very important to this. That's obvious," Gwendolyn replied quietly. "Even I've picked up on that since I came here. But there's one thing you seem to have forgotten, Harry."

He paused and shot a look full of furious despair at his friend. "What?"

She straightened and carefully walked over to stand in front of him. Harry absently noted that he was actually a couple of inches taller than her. "You're not alone." She rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, her expression completely serious and full of understanding.

"No, you're not," Tonks added, and Harry saw her determined face just a few inches behind Gwendolyn's shoulder. "Harry, you won't be left alone to deal with this. That's what we're here for."

"Me too," Gwendolyn added fiercely, her sapphire eyes practically glowing.

But Harry shook his head and backed away a step, breaking her hold on his shoulder. "This isn't your fight, Gwen. You don't have to do this. You have a choice. I don't."

She blinked, and her eyes suddenly burned with anger. "It became my fight when those… Death Eaters," she spat, "slaughtered my family." Her upper lip curled in barely banked fury as she clenched her fists stiffly at her sides, and Harry noticed that Tonks warily drew back a couple of steps. "I _lost_ my choice when they raped and tortured me for over an entire month."

All were silent for a moment as Harry and Tonks digested her harsh words, until Harry looked his friend in the eyes and said, "I'm sorry."

Just as suddenly as her anger flared, Gwendolyn stifled and pulled it deeply within herself, locking it tightly away from outside notice. She closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. "I am too, Harry," she murmured. Eyes almost black with distress opened and refocused on him. "Too many have suffered for no reason at all. It's about damned time this was ended."

All Harry could do was nod in agreement.

**… … … … **

Weeks passed, and spring began waning towards summer. Harry had a lot of class work to make up after his time in the infirmary, and all of his friends helped. There was also the little detail of end of term tests to study for, and once again the students of Hogwarts found themselves getting less and less sleep and more and more homework.

It had turned out that everyone involved in the attack at Hogsmeade had been injured to some degree. Ron had healed fairly well from the spell damage done to his shoulder, although it was determined that he would never fully recover back to his former strength. He more than made up for it on the Quidditch field, as he'd developed into as good a Keeper as Oliver Wood had ever been. It was even arguable that the second-youngest Weasley was better than his predecessor. Gryffindor was in the number one spot in the Cup Finals, even with their Keeper and Seeker being injured as they had been, and it was highly doubtful that Ravenclaw would be able to defeat them in the last game of the year.

Hermione had suffered a moderate concussion during the battle, but was the first to recover. Tonks had arrived just after Harry had subconsciously Apparated himself to the Shrieking Shack, and had also been hit with a spell before she was able to subdue Crabbe with Ron and Hermione's help. She had spent two days at Saint Mungo's to be treated for wounds received from magicked arrows that had been tipped with some sort of poison, and had returned to Hogwarts the moment she had been released so she could guard Harry and Gwendolyn in the school's Infirmary.

The Death Eater that Gwendolyn had killed had been none other than Walden MacNair, who had managed to somehow escape Azkaban under the Ministry's radar two days before. And Vincent Crabbe wasn't forthcoming with the name of the other two Death Eaters involved in the attack. But word had spread through Hogwarts that one of them was Theodorus Crabbe, Vincent's father, who had escaped with MacNair. All of the other convicted Death Eaters were accounted for in Azkaban, which of course was a relief for Harry. He had enough on his mind as it was.

**… … … … **

"Now, who can show me the proper counter for this attack?" Professor Snape asked crisply as he stood over Ernie MacMillan, lying sprawled in a daze on the floor.

Harry looked around at his classmates, and sighed when not even one of them were willing to venture an answer. He raised his hand with a disgusted shake of his head.

"Potter?" The Potions' Master nodded at him expectantly. It was strange the effect that Gwendolyn had on the normally evil-tempered git; ever since the attack in Hogsmeade, Snape had not once given Harry an overly difficult time. As a matter of fact, Harry could go so far as to say that the Professor was at pains to treat him normally. Snape's attitude to all of the students had also mellowed out quite a bit. He seemed more focused… more grounded… with less aimless and frustrated fury emanating from him.

Harry stood, raising his sword and saluting the Professor as he was taught. "Riposte, parry, and sneak your point in at the weak spot," he replied. "I believe it's called _Botta-in-tempo_."

"And where is this weak spot?" Gwendolyn asked from where she was leaning against the wall of the large classroom opposite from the students.

Harry raised his sword and aimed the point at Snape's right lower ribcage. "Here," he replied.

"Show me," Snape challenged, and assumed an attack stance. Lightning-swift, they executed the moves, and Harry found that he was able to slip in under the Professor's guard to tap the tip of his sword on the exact spot on the other man's protective padding.

Snape immediately stilled. "Impressive, Potter. When you actually pay attention and apply yourself, you prove to be an almost capable student."

One side of Harry's mouth quirked in an ironic grin. Coming from Snape, that was high praise indeed.

Harry barely caught Ron's whispered sarcastic comment, which made him almost laugh out loud. "I believe the world has just come to an end, 'Mione."

Gwendolyn nodded, and pushed herself away from the wall to approach the two men. "Yes, excellent job, Harry. Ten points," she praised him quietly, and Harry suddenly felt himself blushing.

What on earth was his problem? It was only Gwen after all…

"Before we all practice the forms Professor Snape and Harry have demonstrated," Gwendolyn called out to the group, "Who can tell me what the term _Al la macchia_ means?"

Most of the teenagers had blank looks on their faces, including Hermione, but Justin Finch-Fletchley raised his hand.

"Yes, Justin," Gwendolyn nodded.

"It refers to pretty much an all out brawl with swords; roughly translating to 'out in the woods'," the now tall, broad shouldered young man answered confidently. "My dad's a bit of an enthusiast," he continued with a crooked grin at his classmates, who had looked at him with a little surprise.

"Absolutely right," Gwendolyn praised with a smile. "Ten points to Hufflepuff. This is the most likely scenario for larger conflicts outside of the safety of this school." And here the dark-haired woman's tone became a tad icy. "As most adults would annoyingly say, 'Out in the real world,' things are much different than here in the classroom. Which is why I, Professor Snape and Auror Evanston are teaching you realistic ways of physically defending yourselves when you inevitably find yourself unable to use magic."

Snape shot Gwendolyn a strange, inscrutable look as he called the rest of the class to pair off and practice the moves they had just learned, and Harry for once found himself without a partner. Hermione and Ron had moved away from the group to begin practicing almost right away with nary a glance at their friend. Harry wasn't sure if he should've been thinking _'It's about bloody time those two were together,_' or if he should feel upset at being left out so blatantly.

But he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder, and once again he felt the heat rise in his face as he turned to face Gwendolyn.

"It's Severus' turn to monitor the students," she said with a soft smile. "Would you mind pairing off with me?"

Harry's eyes widened a little. Did she just ask him out on a date?! But he shook his head a little at the thought. _'She meant for practicing fencing moves, you idiot,'_ he chastised himself, and nodded his agreement.

They took turns at offensive and defensive stances, and by the time Gwendolyn and Professor Snape called an end to the exercise, everyone in the room was drenched with sweat.

"Not bad," Snape commented as he wiped a thin line of perspiration from his forehead. "Next class you will be taught the Rapier and Cloak method of fighting, as many of you might find yourselves wearing your robes during a battle. Until then, you shall take three quarters of an hour each night to practice your agility exercises."

Almost all of the students, well, at least those who weren't still out of breath from the class, groaned at the thought of even more homework, and Snape smiled thinly.

"The next time I'm with your class, there shall be a test." His sneer grew in intensity at the doubly increased volume of the teenagers' anguished groans, and with an almost cheerful nod at Gwendolyn, the Potions Master took his leave.

Immediately, all eyes turned to the slight witch in charge of the class. "Gwen?" Ron practically squeaked, and the brunette could barely suppress a laugh at his matching woebegone expression.

"It's a practical," she explained with a grin. "All you have to do is demonstrate the moves we've been teaching you, and Charles and I will be reviewing them with you before Professor Snape rejoins us."

A collective sigh echoed throughout the room.

"Well, at least we can quiz each other on our other classes while we're practicing," Hermione tried to point out helpfully, and turned to gather her robes and bulging bookbag, completely oblivious to her classmates' and friends' glares.

French:

"Milady Azrael, vous obtenez de de lui cet instant,"

"Milady Azrael, you get off of him this instant,"

"Attendre un moment."

"Wait a moment."


	18. Somewhere I Belong

**Chapter 18 – Somewhere I Belong**

With the coming of the ever-stressful year-end finals, Harry's nightmares returned with a vengeance. But at least their content was new. Almost every night, Harry dreamed he was standing in front of the Shrieking Shack in the middle of a hurricane. But tonight was different, as there was more.

"_Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings"_

Harry could barely catch the words screaming past his ears. The winds howled furiously, a mixture of rain and hail pummeled everything to the ground, and the trees all around Harry were being either uprooted, snapped in half or both. He could barely stand as he was buffeted and assaulted from all directions, and he continued trying to push through to the derelict house even as he was continuously struck with debris. His robes and clothes underneath were being sliced to ribbons, but that barely registered in his mind.

"_Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams"_

Harry hardly made any progress against the weather, and suddenly he noticed that a vortex of wind, rain, hail, and debris not ten meters from him began to coalesce into the form of a ghostly woman.

"_Blinded by me, you can't see a thing"_

Harry's stomach clenched in terror. Long, wild and tangled hair whipped around the gaunt face of the woman. Her papery-white skin was contrasted grotesquely by the ragged blood red dress she was wearing.

In his ears whispered the tortured words shrieking in vain for dominance over the wind:

"_Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream"_

But everything suddenly didn't matter, not even the very air trying to shred him into tiny gelatinous pieces. Harry's eyes widened as the banshee came into better focus…

"_I will occupy"_

"GWEN?!" he shouted, but the name was torn away from his mouth. The banshee didn't seem to notice, her voice keening its distress to the void she was trapped in as the very dress she was wearing scattered droplets of blood everywhere. The wind carried the crimson in sheets and splattered them all over Harry. His glasses were peppered with red, and he shouted again.

"**GWEN!!**"

"_I will help you die"_

The Gwendolyn banshee whipped around, and glittering sapphire eyes devoid of life widened as she noticed Harry. Faster than thought, she shot through the raging hurricane, still screaming.

"_I will run through you"_

Right at Harry.

He threw up his arms and screamed as her misty hand touched his scar… it burned… it BURNED!!

**…………**

"Harry! Harry, wake up!" Ron shouted as he shook his best friend violently. Harry screamed again in absolute terror, completely trapped by the agony focused on his infernal scar.

Suddenly his face exploded in sharp pain. Ron had slapped him.

The nightmare released Harry as suddenly as it seemed to grip him, and words hissed out of his mouth as if he were merely the medium:

"_Now I rule you, too"_

Harry's back arched as if he were finishing a grand mal seizure. Manic laughter escaped his lips and he collapsed limply on his bed, hopelessly tangled up in the sheets.

"Harry?" Neville's frightened voice was like sandpaper in his ears, and the raven-haired young man groaned deep in his chest.

The door to the large bedroom slammed open as people rushed in.

"What is going on here?" Professor McGonagall's almost panicked voice cut through the dead, shocked silence in the room. Harry faintly heard her shoving people out of her way as she came to his bed, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak. He felt so… drained.

"Potter, can you hear me?" the Head of his House urgently spoke at his side as she sat on his bed. Her cool hand brushed Harry's sweat-soaked hair back from his brow. "Potter… what happened? Harry…"

But her voice faded down the elongated corridor of his consciousness as Harry finally fainted.

**…………**

"Harry, you look absolutely terrible."

He grinned mirthlessly. "Why thank you, 'Mione. It must be all the sun I've been getting."

She stopped in the middle of the hall and planted her fists on her hips. Other students hurrying to their classes broke around her like river water flowing around a boulder. "I'm serious. You look like hell. Have you been getting any sleep?"

He shrugged as he gazed at nothing in particular past her shoulder. "No, not really."

"Harry, something's got to be done about this. You're well on your way to a breakdown if this isn't stopped soon."

He grimaced. "I'm open to suggestions. It's not like this's coming from Voldemort, you know. And Madame Pomfrey can only give me so much Dreamless Sleep potion." He sighed deeply.

It had been two and a half weeks since the first nightmare about Gwendolyn and the hurricane, and Harry was lucky if he'd gotten more than a few scant hours' sleep each night. He'd taken to staying up as late as possible in the Common Room studying, with either Dobby or Winky bringing him pitchers of strong coffee to help him stay awake. And then when he finally dragged himself up to his room, he made sure to cast a sound-proofing charm on the hangings around his bed so he wouldn't continue to upset his friends with his screaming. He knew this was only a temporary Band-Aid to the problem, but Harry was at a loss as to what else he could do.

Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had spoken to Harry at length after the horrible first time he'd woken everyone in the Gryffindor tower with his screams. They'd even consulted with both Madame Pomfrey and Professor Snape about ways of dealing with the nightmare, but they just couldn't figure out what was wrong. The entire school was abuzz with rumors about why Harry was having such terrible dreams, and even the other professors were concerned. Professor Trelawny was of course all atwitter with excitement, and had constantly approached Harry with her opinion that he was having psychic premonitions so terrible in nature that she felt he needed to be under her constant surveillance and tutelage.

Harry snorted as he thought about that. Right. Like that old fraud could do anything to help him. Her so-called "inner sight" was as blind as she was, in his opinion.

Gwendolyn had of course also heard about Harry's nightmares, but he didn't want to upset her with what he was certain were images his unconscious mind was projecting in order to relieve stress. He had told no one of what his nightmares contained… no one except for the Headmaster. And anyway, Gwendolyn was increasingly looking as bad as he felt. He'd been wondering if maybe she was having nightmares too.

"Maybe it's time to consider going to Saint Mungo's," his dear friend suggested firmly, snapping Harry out of his musings.

But he shook his head. "'Mione, if Dumbledore can't figure this out, then I doubt anyone else would have a chance."

They started walking to their next class, Care of Magical Creatures, their pace slower than normal as Harry had very little energy lately. They didn't speak, and Harry felt his fuzzed mind wandering again.

Very quietly, he unconsciously began to sing. "Master, master… Where's the dreams that I've been after? Master, master… You promised only lies…"

Hermione's brow creased in deepening concern as she caught the faint words.

"Laughter, laughter… All I hear and see is laughter… Laughter, laughter… Laughing at my cries…"

Finally she couldn't take it any more. The young woman grabbed Harry's upper arm and swung him around to face her. "Harry, you're singing it… again."

He blinked, his eyes slowly coming back into focus. "What?"

"That song. You've been singing it nonstop since the nightmares started."

Harry frowned in puzzlement. "Thought I'd stopped doing that."

"You did, for a day or two. The words, Harry; they really worry me. It sounds like they're about Voldemort."

Dulled emerald eyes closed briefly. "Wish I knew where the hell I'd have heard it before. It's not the kind of music Dudley listens to, and I only hear Muggle music when I'm at Privet Drive."

The halls were mostly empty now, so Harry and Hermione were able to clearly hear the rapid footsteps clattering from behind them. The two turned to see Ron running up the hall towards them.

He slid to a puffing halt, holding on to a stitch in his side. "Found… out… what… that… bloody song is," he panted. At his best friend's questioning glances, he explained through gulps of air. "Dean's got… an older brother… a Muggle… listens to… something… called… hefty Myrtle…?"

Hermione rolled her eyes a little. "Are you trying to say heavy metal, Ron?"

The redhead blinked. "Yeah, whatever," he said glibly. "Anyway, it's called… Master of Puppets, by…" he paused, screwing up his face as he tried and failed to recall the name. "Some musical group from America. I gotta say, Muggles are so weird."

Hermione smacked her friend in the arm, and the redhead winced with a muttered, "Ow!"

"Okay, so we know it's a real song, and not something my brain made up," Harry thought aloud with a one-shouldered shrug. "Well, that's a relief."

"How so?" Hermione questioned, still glaring at Ron for his faux-pas.

"It means I'm not going completely insane," Harry smiled grimly, and Ron snorted. "Just wish I knew where this was coming from. I doubt that Voldemort would be listening to Muggle music." He trailed off for a moment as he tried to envision the Dark Lord trying to figure out a CD stereo system. He chuckled, unaware of the concern on his best friends' faces. "C'mon, we're gonna be late for class."

They started walking again, and after a few quiet minutes Ron wondered aloud, "I hope Hagrid's okay."

The other two nodded their agreement, as the half-giant had been absent for most of the New Year on secret Order business. Professor Grumblyplank had taken Care of Magical creatures over indefinitely, and was teaching the class in her own very capable way. But while the substitute professor had taught them about many interesting creatures, Harry found that he missed Hagrid's style… as well as the man's innocent love for the more dangerous creatures in the magical world.

**…………**

That evening, Harry was sick of sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, as his friends had finally figured out what he'd been doing to keep himself awake and had been insistent on having at least one of them sit up with him as well. Most nights the company was a welcome diversion, but this time he just wanted to be left alone. His scar was sending stabbing pains through his eye, and he spooked at every little movement of the shadows.

"Well, I think I'm off to bed, Ron," Harry yawned and stretched before climbing out of the comfy depths of the armchair he'd been ensconced in, pretending to read over Firenze's homework for the past two hours.

"Whu… what?" Ron shook himself awake; he'd been nodding off when his friend's quiet words startled him. "What time is it?"

"Gone past one," Harry replied with a small smile. "C'mon, let's go on up. I think I'll be okay tonight."

Ron scrubbed his eyes before looking warily back at him. "You sure, mate?"

"Yeah." Harry reached over and pulled his best friend off of the couch. They made their way companionably up the stairs to their room, and Harry climbed into his bed on the pretense that he was actually going to sleep. He waited a few minutes, until he heard Ron's soft snores join Seamus and Dean's in an odd chorus before he carefully slipped out of bed and grabbed the Invisibility Cloak from his chest.

He swept the cloak over his shoulders and adjusted the hood so that he could see clearly without revealing his face before he noiselessly made his way back downstairs and out of the Gryffindor tower.

"Who's there?" the Fat Lady called out sleepily, but Harry didn't answer. Best if she didn't know exactly who was wandering out in the corridors so late at night. Also gave Harry plausible deniability.

The portrait swung back shut, with the pink chiffon-clad woman grumbling about ghosts messing with her beauty sleep. Harry wandered through the long corridors of Hogwarts, finding the eerie silence somehow comforting on this particular night.

He passed by darkened classrooms, and had to hastily duck into one of them when he came across Filch and Mrs. Norris patrolling the halls. Once they had passed without noticing him, Harry continued on his way.

He was down by one of the entrances to the dungeons when he heard raised voices. Harry made his way to the slightly open door that the voices, as well as light, spilled out from, and peered through the opening.

It was the Weapons classroom, and standing in the middle were Gwendolyn… and Malfoy of all people. And they were armed with rapiers.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, boy." Gwendolyn's words dripped with venom, and she raised her rapier threateningly with both hands. "And I don't appreciate your coming in here to threaten me."

Harry's eyes widened. What the devil was Malfoy doing?! He ever-so-carefully pushed the door, opening it slowly enough so that, he hoped, the room's occupants wouldn't notice.

"I'm not threatening you, Gwendolyn," Malfoy murmured, raising his own rapier in an echo of the woman's movements. "I merely wished to warn you."

'_Warn?'_ Harry thought. _'Of what?'_ He was finally able to slip into the room, keeping his cloak wrapped tightly about himself so that it wouldn't get caught and reveal his presence.

"I know who your father is," Gwendolyn growled, her eyes glowing in fury. "And for someone with the reputation you have in this school, I find it very surprising that you care about my welfare in the slightest."

Malfoy's already pinched face darkened in anger before he took control of his temper and lowered his sword to point at the ground. "Have you learned nothing of reputations from Professor Snape?" he asked, his gaze level and back straight.

She spat at the ground. "You know nothing about him."

Malfoy shook his head, suddenly looking tired and much older than his tender sixteen years. "I know more than you think. And don't assume that I'm what I seem," he said quietly.

Gwendolyn sucked in a shocked breath. She wasn't the only one. Harry quietly clapped his hands over his mouth to mask his breathed exclamation.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded, but Malfoy merely strode over to the weapons wall and hung his rapier up before quickly leaving the room without another word.

Gwendolyn stood stock still for a few minutes, blinking as she obviously tried to make sense of her encounter. She shook her head then, and pulled out her wand from behind her back. With a fiercely grim expression, she cast some sort of wards on the room before drawing an outline in the air. The places her wand tracked glowed silver before the form of a woman began to materialize.

After a few more seconds, Harry once again gasped silently… for the ghostly figure of Bellatrix Lestrange appeared in the room before Gwendolyn. It was obviously not the real woman, as her mouth opened and moved, but no words came forth.

The apparition sneered openly at Gwendolyn, and Harry noticed that his friend's face had become hard and filled with a terrible icy hatred. It was so unlike any other expression he'd seen before on the woman, that it made Harry step back in not a little fear.

He never wanted to see Gwendolyn with that look on her face again.

The Bellatrix ghost raised her wand in a mocking salute, and Gwendolyn did the same. Their eyes narrowed, and suddenly spells began flying through the room.

Harry quickly ducked through the door, not wanting to get hit by a stray spell by accident, thus revealing his presence to Gwendolyn. He stayed for a moment longer, wondering what exactly the woman was achieving by battling with a mock-up of the despised Death Eater. But when his friend suddenly roared in fury, he peeked his head back inside to see that she was no longer there… instead, a giant black Manticore crouched directly in front of the shade, its poison fang-tipped tail lashing from side to side.

The Bellatrix apparition silently shrieked in fear just before it was set upon by the furious animal. And Harry suddenly realized why Gwendolyn had summoned that particular shade. He backed away from the door and the now muted roars of the infuriated creature within, and hastily made his way back to Gryffindor tower.

**…………**

Harry froze in the doorway to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and Ron and Hermione bumped into him with muttered curses.

"Harry, move!" Ron grumbled with a little shove to his mate's shoulder blades, and Harry unthinkingly complied.

"What's going… oh!" Hermione exclaimed as she noticed Remus Lupin leaning against the teacher's desk at the head of the room.

The werewolf smiled and absentmindedly nodded at the teens before turning to consult a rather large book on the desk. The rest of the class streamed through the door, with students murmuring and exclaiming their various levels of surprise as they also noticed the new teacher.

"Oy, Professor Lupin, what're you doing here?" Seamus called out.

The Professor turned to face the milling students and once again leaned against the desk. "The Headmaster had some urgent business to attend to, and has asked me to fill in temporarily. That is, if none of you mind?" He tilted his head to the side inquiringly.

"Not as long as you don't rip my throat out for giving a wrong answer," Seamus joked in return, and Remus snorted softly as Lavender and Parvati shot evil looks at their classmate for his tactlessness.

"I can assure you that I won't," the Professor said with a twinkle in his eye. "As your final exam is in a fortnight," he paused a moment as most of the teenagers groaned their displeasure. "My time here will be spent reviewing what you've covered so far." He reached behind himself and pulled forth a small sheaf of papers. "Well, it seems that everyone is caught up on the subject matter for your year."

Harry chuckled as he settled himself at his table, and the Professor glanced over at him questioningly. "Not like we haven't had our obstacles," the young man commented wryly, and Lupin nodded with a chuckle of his own.

"How right you are, Mr. Potter. So, for today, we'll be going over the various Dark Creatures you've learned of that you might encounter, and what measures you should take to defend yourselves…"

After the class ended, Harry approached his friend while the others were leaving in chattering groups.

"Remus, what are you doing here?" he softly asked the werewolf. "Really?"

Lupin frowned slightly. "Professor Dumbledore had some urgent business at the Ministry…"

"Anything to do with… The Order?"

Lupin sharply glanced at the last of the students leaving. "Harry…"

"I know, I know; we're not supposed to talk about it." Harry waved off the man's concern irritably. "But it's a bit strange, is all I'm saying."

Lupin leveled an assessing look at the young man in front of him. "Yes, it's on Order business," he replied quietly. "But I'm also here because of you, Harry."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "Please don't start, Remus. I've had enough from everyone else."

The elder man blinked and tilted his head to the side questioningly. "No, I know there's little I can do to help you with that," he said solemnly. "Actually, I'm here for another reason."

Harry opened eyes now full of mild confusion. "What?"

Lupin merely smiled. "You'll find out later. I'll meet you after your last class. Weapons, right?"

Harry nodded with furrowed brows.

"I heard that your teacher knows quite a bit about Muggle defense," Lupin continued with a twinkle in his eye. "But we'll talk more then. Don't want to make you late for Transfiguration, do we?" And with that light comment, the werewolf guided his baffled young friend out of the room.

**…………**

"Professor Snape?"

"What is it, Mister Potter?" the Potions Master snapped irritably from his position beside the impressive weapons' rack along the back wall of the classroom.

"Where's Gwen?" Harry dropped his backpack and robes along the wall beside Hermione's and Ron's as the rest of the students streamed into the room.

"_Professor_ MacCollum is indisposed today. I shall be teaching this class alone," Snape retorted acidly. "Hurry up, hurry up!" he growled at the last of the students' entering the room. "Today we shall be reenacting the _Al la macchia_, and as we're shorthanded today, I shall be assigning a certain few students the task of ensuring the safety of the rest."

"Great," Ron muttered darkly. "Sounds like a job for Malfoy and his Slytherin suck-ups."

Harry frowned. Where _was_ Gwen? Was she okay? It wasn't like her to miss a Weapons' class. As Snape was picking out students to supervise the reenactment, Slytherins to Ron's eternal disgust, Harry raised his hand.

"What is it now, Potter?" the greasy-haired man gritted out impatiently.

"Is Gwe… erm, _Professor_ MacCollum ill, sir?" he corrected himself hastily at the elder man's pointed glare.

"None of your bloody business. Now if you would kindly shut up and pay attention, we could get on with today's lesson?" Snape bit out the last words crisply, his eyes glittering with malevolence and a promised dire ending should he be interrupted again.

'_Something's wrong here,'_ Harry's mind murmured in alarm. _'Snape's worried.'_ He carefully backed away from the front of the group and let his classmates move in front of him until he was beside the door. He checked to make sure no one was paying attention to him, and then gently opened the door and slipped out.

He went down to the kitchen, but Gwendolyn wasn't there. But one of the house elves was helpful enough to tell him that she had seen the witch talking with "that strange Mister Frenzy" just a few minutes earlier. Harry thanked the tiny elf, just barely making it out of the kitchen with only an armful of pastries.

He strode towards the last spot that the elf had seen Gwendolyn at. He rounded a corner, and bumped into…

"Remus!"

The werewolf cocked his head to the side. "I didn't realize your class let out early, Harry." He held out a hand to steady his young friend as Harry staggered a little under his pastry pile. "Unless you skived off for a late afternoon snack?" A corner of his mouth quirked upwards in humor.

"Actually, I'm looking for my friend Gwen," Harry replied, blushing a little.

"The Weapons Class teacher, right?"

Harry nodded. "She's never voluntarily missed a class before, and Snape's worried."

Blue eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Which worries you."

"Yeah. I don't know why, but there's something between those two…" Harry trailed off as his stomach grumbled.

"You might want to eat some of those, Harry. Wouldn't want those delicious tarts going to waste now," Remus almost chuckled.

The raven-haired teen grimaced before handing his friend a handful of the treats. "You could stand to eat more yourself."

Remus snorted and took a bite out of one of them. The two began walking again as they munched. "You're starting to sound like Molly there, my boy."

"Better than Madame Pomfrey," Harry mumbled around a mouthful of pumpkin pasty.

Remus merely smiled as they turned down another corridor. "So where are we headed, exactly?"

"Well," Harry said, "One of the house elves said she'd seen Gwen talking to Firenze not long ago. I figured I'd check out his classroom to see if they went there."

"Sounds like a plan," Remus replied, and they soon reached their destination. The door to the room was ajar, and the two heard faint voices coming from inside.

Harry pushed the door open a little wider and peeked his head inside. Gwendolyn was lying on her back in the middle of the magicked forest clearing, Firenze about a meter from her side sitting on his haunches and pointing at the simulated night sky high above them.

He couldn't make out what the two were discussing, but Harry knew it was serious by the grim expression on Gwendolyn's face. Firenze's deep voice rumbled through the room, occasionally interspersed with comments from the young witch. Suddenly she sat up and scrubbed at her face with both hands, then raked her long hair back before looking to the centaur and speaking. Her whole posture practically screamed that she was tense and quite upset.

Harry snuck a quick glance at Remus, who merely cocked an eyebrow questioningly at him. Harry shrugged and quietly walked into the room.

Gwendolyn and Firenze, their backs now to the newcomers, tensed before turning to see who was approaching. They relaxed when they recognized Harry, and the centaur nodded solemnly to Remus.

Out of the corner of Harry's eye, he noticed he werewolf tense just the slightest bit, and wondered why Remus would be uncomfortable around Firenze. _'Must ask him about that,'_ the teen thought absently.

Gwendolyn blinked at Harry and Remus. "Harry, what are you doing here?"

"You weren't at Weapon's class, and I was… well… concerned."

Her brows furrowed. "Why?" she asked simply. Beside and a little behind her, Firenze shifted on his haunches.

Harry felt the color rising in his cheeks, and checked himself from saying the ready answer that had popped up in his head: _'Because you look like hell lately, and you don't seem to be getting any better.'_

"You… haven't seemed like yourself lately," he answered quietly.

Gwendolyn's expression became shuttered, and she glanced upwards. "With good reason," she murmured, and then shook herself before looking back at the human men in front of her. "I came across Firenze late this morning, and he'd told me that he had something he wanted to discuss, so we agreed to meet here now."

"But why didn't you teach any of your classes today?" Harry questioned gently.

The young witch closed her eyes briefly before taking a deep breath and looking back at her friend gravely. "Today was Eadoin's birthday, as well as our wedding anniversary."

Harry sucked in a startled breath through his teeth. "Damn, Gwen… I'm sorry."

She shook her head as Harry briefly touched her forearm in sympathy. "You had no idea, Harry. It's not like I've been very open with my past life."

An awkward silence descended upon the room for a moment, before Gwendolyn glanced at Remus questioningly. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid we haven't been introduced."

Harry felt like smacking his head for his thoughtlessness. "Gwen MacCollum, this is Remus Lupin," he introduced his friends.

Gwendolyn's eyes widened slightly, and a grin spread unexpectedly across her face like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day.

"'I've brought you something,'" she quoted with a distinct British accent, and the men frowned in puzzlement.

"For me?" Remus asked, cocking his head to the side.

"'Is it food? Medicine? Wood perhaps, for the fire?'" Gwendolyn continued, her grin widening mischievously.

"Gwen, what are you on about?" Harry said in utter confusion.

"'No, lupins.'"

"'Lupins?! Christ!'"

Suddenly, Remus' puzzled expression cleared as he placed what the young woman was saying. He chuckled. "Ah. It's been a while since I've been able to catch the Circus."

Harry looked between the two adults, completely flabbergasted and speechless.

Remus noticed, and explained through his grin. "She's quoting a comedy sketch done on Muggle television. It's from an old show called Monty Python's Flying Circus, Harry."

"Ah." Harry's face smoothed out with understanding. He remembered now how much Uncle Vernon hated that show, so Dudley had always ended up watching the series in his room. "My cousin thought it was hilarious."

Remus nodded, and turned back to the young woman and held out his hand. Gwendolyn shook it, her eyes twinkling with genuine mirth for the first time Harry had seen. He found himself wishing fervently that she would smile more like that, and decided that he would make sure to give her plenty of reason to do so in the future.

Firenze stood still through the entire odd exchange, tilting his head from one side to the other in confusion. _'Humans,'_ his expression seemed to say. _'Are the oddest creatures.'_ He cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the bipeds. "Good even," he rumbled, but Gwendolyn quickly placed a gentle hand on his forearm, stopping him.

"Please don't go," she said softly, immediately sobering. "It's a quirk of mine. I tend to free associate at times. Monsieur Lupin's name reminded me of a bit of humor I'd seen a few years ago."

The centaur lowered his head in acquiescence, even though he clearly didn't understand what she was talking about.

"Gwendolyn," Remus spoke up, and she turned to him with a questioning look. The werewolf's smile had vanished, to be replaced with a slightly woebegone expression. "I'm sorry about your husband," he said quietly.

Her eyes widened slightly, the old pain that always seemed to hover over her returning. "Did you…" she began, and Remus nodded.

"Yes, I'd worked with him a few times in the past," he replied sadly. "I knew his parents well."

"How…" Harry started, and his friend smiled gently.

"Albus Dumbledore has met all kinds of wizards in his line of work," he explained with a level look at the teen.

Harry blinked. _'They were members of the Order?'_

"Eadoin's parents were experts in the study of the Dark Arts," Remus continued. "Eadoin was in the middle of his first year at Hogwarts when they were killed."

Harry felt his stomach plummet to his feet. Anyone who knew the Dark Arts back in the Seventies and were murdered could only mean one thing… Voldemort. "Shit," he muttered.

Remus nodded grimly, and Harry glanced at Gwendolyn. Her brows were furrowed in confusion.

"I'm not sure I understand," she said.

Remus cleared his throat, looking slightly ill at ease. "Voldemort was at the height of his power then," he began, but never finished as he watched the young woman's face drain of all color.

"No," she whispered, her sapphire eyes darkening with emotion. Suddenly she shook her head, her unbound hair whirling about her shoulders.

Harry stepped towards his friend, his hand raising to almost touch her now trembling shoulder.

She snapped her gaze back to a grim looking Remus. "What is it about this bastard?" she grated out. "He gets his jollies out of murdering people's parents?"

"Yes," Harry growled, and everyone's eyes turned to him. "Hell, he killed his dad and his grandparents at the same time. Why would he respect anyone else's family?"

Remus closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Voldemort tried to recruit the MacCollums, but they refused. He couldn't allow them to stand against him. Their knowledge and mastery of the Dark Arts rivaled his."

Remus' words distracted Harry from his tormented anger. "But they weren't Dark Wizards," he asked.

"No," the werewolf shook his head. "They were scholars. Back then, there were many wizards and witches who made it a point to study the Dark Arts so that they could better protect the wizarding community."

"And Voldemort… he killed them all," Gwendolyn said, her voice harsh.

Remus merely nodded. "The ones he could find that wouldn't join him."

"Such is the nature of evil," Firenze rumbled.

"Who took care of Eadoin after his parents died?" Harry asked.

"Severus," Gwendolyn and Remus answered simultaneously.

"Snape?!"

The corner of Gwendolyn's mouth quirked up in a small yet mirthless smile. "Yes, Harry. Severus had just been hired to work at Hogwarts, and he took Eadoin 'under his wing', so to speak." Her eyes unfocused as she remembered. "They had so much in common, and Eadoin reminded Severus of his brother."

Harry blinked. "I didn't know he had a brother."

She closed her eyes briefly before reopening them and solemnly focusing on the raven-haired teen. "It's not something he wishes to remember… or discuss."

"What happened to him?"

"He died," she replied shortly. "Like so many have back then, I'm learning."

Firenze stepped up to the small knot of humans. "My lady, I must take my leave," he rumbled. "I ask you to consider what we have spoken of."

Gwendolyn turned to him with questioning eyes, and he continued.

"The stars have spoken of deep ties between you and the Dark Lord. If you do not take care, you shall be devoured by them."

Everyone froze as the import of the centaur's words sank in. He nodded gravely to the humans as if he didn't notice their reactions, and cantered out of the room.

Harry blinked a few times, stunned. What the hell was that all about? Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Remus intently watching Gwendolyn, and he turned his attention to her.

She stood completely rigid, her hands held loosely at her sides.

"Gwen?"

She just stood there, looking a bit stunned. "What the devil did he mean by that?"

Harry shook his head, but it was Remus who answered. "Centaurs are a strange folk. They tend to speak in riddles, even about the simplest of things. Although I must admit," the werewolf furrowed his brows slightly as he glanced at the doorway the centaur had just exited. "That was a bit strange, even for Firenze."

Gwendolyn turned away from them, hunching her shoulders as if against a cold wind. She stared at the far side of the magicked room with unfocused eyes as she rubbed at her arms. "I did not need to hear that," she murmured to herself. "What a way to celebrate today, my love." Her eyes squeezed shut as tears slowly began slipping down her cheeks. Remus stepped back before silently retreating from the room as an equally stunned Harry reached out to his friend and enveloped her in a gentle hug from behind.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her dark hair.

She sighed as she leaned her head back against his shoulder, conveying a multitude of emotions in a brief exhalation of air. "For what? You didn't cause this."

Harry closed his eyes tightly. "For once."

She stiffened a little in his arms, and turned slightly to look at the profile of his face. She remained like that for a few long moments before softly replying, "You're not responsible for all of them."

Harry tilted his head back as he let her go and gazed with empty eyes at the simulated night sky. "Yes. I am. I'm the only one who can stop him, and he kills as many innocent people he can every chance he gets."

She shifted and pulled him down so that they both sat side by side on the soft grass, and leaned her head against his shoulder again. "Well, at least you know why."

"No. Not really. All because some batty woman has a vision, and this madman decides I'm the one she's talking about. So many have died, and I'm not even that special. Or talented. Or even smart."

"You survived the Killing Curse," she murmured, dashing the drying tears away from her face.

Harry grimaced. "Big deal. So did you."

"I was just plain lucky; the idiot that shot me must not be very talented. Either that or the stupid simpering rat is just that bad a shot," she gritted out between clenched teeth.

Harry couldn't help the grim snort. "You must be talking about Wormtail."

Gwendolyn nodded. "What a stupid name for such a coward. Though he seemed to do just fine in murdering my niece." Her voice practically dropped an octave. "Maybe he prefers killing children to adults. Less threatening."

Harry rested his cheek on the top of her head and wrapped his arm around her waist. "It wasn't your fault either."

"How can I know that?" she shot back, her voice strained with the effort of holding back the tears he knew were threatening to burst forth again. "You think you're not that special. Why's Voldemort so fucking interested in me? I didn't even know anything about the wizarding world until he came along."

"Two things: you're a metamorphmagus; and, you can speak any language."

She shrugged. "No one ever told me it was that rare. It wasn't like I was around people much, you know." As if sensing Harry's unspoken confusion, she elaborated. "I was mostly home schooled. At least when I had foster parents who bothered to care about my education."

"You went through a lot of them." It wasn't a question, but merely a statement of fact. Gwendolyn had mentioned to him and his friends before that she had been shifted around quite a few foster families until one couple had seemed to truly care about her welfare, and kept her until she was an adult.

"Marcus and Adele might be a bit… weird," Gwendolyn admitted wryly. "But not once did they treat me like a freak or some sort of abomination to be tolerated. The other so-called 'families' either didn't care about me other than the money they were getting paid, or at the first whiff of my… oddness, sent me packing to the next home. I was damned lucky to come across them. Most orphans aren't."

Harry nodded a little, his cheek sliding across her silky hair. "I know what you mean."

Silence reigned for a while, with both Harry and Gwendolyn content to just sit there leaning against each other, taking and giving comfort wordlessly.

Harry sighed and felt the weight of the entire world ease up from his shoulders for the first time since he found out he was a wizard. He was only just accepting how alone he truly felt; even though he had Ron, Hermione, and his other friends to lean on, they would never truly know what it was like to be in his shoes. Amazingly, here was a woman who not only understood, but who had lived a life similar to his. And while Harry would never wish that fate on another human being, he was also selfishly glad to have met someone he could unburden his soul to without fear of recrimination or misunderstanding. To Dumbledore, no matter how much he respected or even loved him, Harry would never be anything else other than The Savior of the Wizarding World. Even with Hermione, a Muggle-born who didn't grow up with the stories and the fear that wizard-born children like Ron did about Voldemort, Harry still had a tremendous reputation to uphold. At least with Gwendolyn, Harry could be himself, admitting all of his fears, doubts, and self-recriminations without slamming up against that wall of reputation and built-up hopes he did with everyone else.

He sighed deeply, realizing just how weary he was of it all, and in response Gwendolyn carefully took his free hand in hers and squeezed it.

"My friend," she began softly, and trailed off, as if unsure how to put her thoughts and feelings at that moment into words.

Harry closed his eyes once more and turned his head to bury his face in Gwendolyn's dark hair. Without realizing what he was doing, he deeply inhaled the sandlewood scent left from her shampoo as his right arm tightened around her waist.

Gwendolyn shifted in mild discomfort, and Harry leaned away to look at her face. Sapphire eyes wordlessly questioned him, and suddenly Harry couldn't control himself.

He quickly leaned in and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

Gwendolyn's entire body stiffened, then seemed to relax as Harry's right hand let go of her waist and trailed lightly up her spine. Her soft lips parted slightly, and his stomach twisted as his left hand gently cupped her face. He deepened the kiss as she leaned in closer to him, his fingertips tracing the line of her jaw.

But suddenly Gwendolyn wrenched away from Harry and scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide and horrified.

"Que fais-je ?" she whispered in shock. Harry blinked in confusion, but when he moved to stand, Gwendolyn quickly spun around and fled the room.

"Gwen!" Harry bolted after her, and ran down the corridor towards the inner courtyard he'd spent many hours over the years with Hedwig, sitting on the edge of the empty fountain as he watched his beloved owl soaring through the air.

"Gwen! Wait!"

But Harry skidded to a halt, chest heaving, when Remus stepped into his path.

"Let her go, Harry."

"No! Remus…"

But the werewolf shook his head. "Whatever's happened between you two, she's gone."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "Gone?! No! Remus, I have to…" He moved to dart around his friend, but the older man gripped his shoulder tightly with a firm shake of his head.

"She's really upset, Harry. She came tearing through here just a few moments ago, but there's no way you're going to catch up with her. Give her some time to calm down."

Harry stood there staring at the man in dismay. "You don't understand. I made a complete ass of myself. I have to…"

Remus crooked and eyebrow and looked meaningfully at the sky. After a moment's confusion, Harry looked up to see what his friend was looking at.

High above, rising on the warm thermals, a majestic eagle screamed.

"Gwen…" Harry breathed.

"Like I said, Harry, there's no way you're going to catch up with her," Remus said quietly.

The raven-haired young man deflated like a punctured balloon. He ran both hands through his hair in utter frustration, causing clumps of it to stick out at even odder angles than they usually did. After a few moments, he raised glittering emerald eyes to meet his friend's pale blue ones. "Remus, I'm an idiot."

The werewolf smiled in wry understanding, and led Harry over to sit beside him at the fountain's edge. "My dear boy, you're not the first man to make a fool out of himself because of a beautiful woman, and you're certainly not going to be the last." He paused as a sad smile crossed his face. "Your father was definitely not the suave gentleman he thought he was… well, at least not with your mother."

Unbidden, a snort of amusement was jolted out of Harry. "Like father, like son, you mean?"

Remus nodded, his grin widening. "Exactly. Actually, it's a little surprising this hasn't happened earlier."

Harry's eyes widened. "Don't tell me… you mean that…"

Remus patted him on the shoulder. "Harry, it's been obvious for some time now that you fancied Gwendolyn."

"Is this common knowledge?" the teenager asked with a distinct bite in his tone. The last thing he wanted was people gossiping about him behind his back. Especially if it was people he trusted.

The older man merely grinned. "Your friends are quite observant, you know. Anyway," he quickly changed the subject, as he saw how Harry was working himself up to quite a foul temper. "There was that other reason I came to visit you."

Harry frowned, but reluctantly allowed the topic change. "What?"

"Walk with me, Harry." And with no further explanation the werewolf rose, turned and led the young wizard around the castle and down towards Hagrid's hut.

"Remus, Hagrid's been gone most of the year," Harry pointed out, but his friend merely smiled and continued on his way.

Within a few minutes, they were standing at the front door to the modest dwelling of the half-giant.

French:

"Que fais-je ?"

"What am I doing?"


End file.
